Paint It Black
by Nameless-Sufferer
Summary: Color is a privledge I have not the honor to see. It's nothing personal. It affects everyone. Still, seeing the color of the sky or the fall of the leaves would be more enlightening if I could see the reds or blues. But, I can't change what I was born with. I need my soul mate for that and I don't know anyone who would want a boring doctor as I. John/Sherlock
1. Monochrome

_A/N: Yes, I know I have Muse to worry about and it is coming along slowly. Until I get that updated, I am working on this little interesting series that will also feature Johnlock. The chapters will be shorter and the story line confusing, but I really hope you enjoy it! _

_Okay, so I would add some information, but John will do that for me. The first few chapters will be_ **_informational_ **_chapters. So you know this world and the people and types in it! There is a lot, I warn you. I have been planning this series for a month now in the between moments of Muse. I promise it gets better! I hope so anyways! I will work on it regardless of that fact, but having some people liking it would just make it all the more appealing to write I suppose? ^^" I apologize for any boring things in this chapter. Since I won't be adding an end note to this first chapter, review/fav/follow/read! Ciao guys~!_**  
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_Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock_

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><p><strong><em>Chapter 1: Monochrome<em>**

_Black and white._

_White and black._

_Gray and black and white._

These are the colors that have adorned my vision since I was born. Everything I see is like peering into old classics on the telly. People moving with the most flamboyant movements and speaking in odd tongues. Nothing is taken away from seeing only three colors. It's the same as everything else, just lacking the one objective that could make it stand out from the rest.

_Color._

Sitting at my office desk, I picked up a pencil and sketched on a notepad close to me. I'm far from an artist, but I enjoy the craft as a time waster. My paperwork is finished, my next patient isn't till noon, and I have no other way to pass the time, having forgotten my favorite detective novel at home.

After a moment of idle coloring, I peered at the sheet of paper. The spark of hope in the back of my head appearing despite the absurdity.

It was useless for that spark to have occurred. I hadn't met anybody in the last few seconds.

I stilled the pencil.

Even though the colored pencil in my hand is labeled "Blue" all I see is black or a dark gray. The sphere I color on my paper is perfect in the sense of shading and proportions, but it can't get any better without color. An aspect I have long given up looking for because I apparently wasn't meant to have it with however many dates I go on.

Setting the pencil aside, I sighed. My hand goes to the bridge of my nose and I stuffed the pad in my drawers.

But, I can't say that I am the only one with this. Because I'm not. Everyone is born with this specific disease the second they leave the womb of their parents. Color is left out of the picture and replaced with the lifeless neutrals of shading and light. It's like reverting back to the past because we have advanced so much in the future. Both I find rather unbelievable, but that is the belief system nowadays.

I vaguely remembered all the times on the telly I would catch kids yelling at their parents and blaming them for the fact they can't see color. The parents couldn't do anything but watch in a tearful expression for they had nothing they could say to console the hormonal teenager.

It's not the parent's fault. It never is their fault. If anything, pity is placed on them for bearing children. As odd as it sounds, having children is almost a curse for them. They lack the connection they know they can't have with their children. The one facet that everyone has in common except for the lucky few.

The spectrum of light coursing through everyday life.

_Color._

God. That word. I suppose before the whole disease people would love the word like it was some euphoric drug. But that was in the past. Nowadays, mentioning this word in public or in a pub could get you a solid left hook, a black eye, and a few disgusted looks. Even if you couldn't see it. Even if it was just idle conversation. It was a touchy subject.

So is mentioning people you know who have found color. It seems that while everybody may be congratulating you, they have that underline emotion of hatred and resentment.

But that's how it is today, as immature and annoying as it can be.

The parents, the soul mates as we call it, have color. It's because with their soul mate, the one and only person they will be with, their lives are complete. They can see the world for what it is, but it's fine as long as their mate is beside them. It's only then that the disease is lifted and you are able to see color.

Or so I've heard. I can't say the same because I haven't found mine yet and have stopped looking.

In this colorless world, we call these people the Iridescence. They are not restricted to hierarchy and nor are they immediately moved when they do change the status. They are just lucky, ordinary people. You can tell when you're around one when you see them. They have a white aura outlining their entire being. It branches off in wispy arms, but touches no one. It's like they are glowing.

The rest of us, the colorless, are known as the Monochromes. Most of the population consists of Monochromes. It's because soul mates are hard to find. The closest hint you get is a tug in the right direction. A little spark saying that you might want to look around you. But it could be gone in an instant.

I sighed, briefly remembering times I always felt that tug. It was so faint and I hated it because it always pointed me to the nearest crime scene. It was like it was mocking me. Telling me it would be better to just do the same as that bloke on the street.

Some find theirs though. I don't know how. They can never explain what it felt like when they found their mate. A mystery.

Well, I suppose that's very unrelated to me at the moment.

Once your mate is found, the white and black don't change immediately. It's gradual, depending on how deep your bond is. If it's friendship. If it's love. If it's anything. Depending on the strength of the bond, you will get whatever color is dictated by that amount of strength.

That's why some of us are fortunate to get all colors when we do find our mates. The Iridescence is a status most don't obtain. It has sub-levels for those who obtain most of the color (Opalescence) and those who have very little (Pastels). Although, that being said, nobody can have a child unless they are with their soul mate and of full Iridescence value. That's the interesting perks of the disease really.

I don't know of these and I personally could care less. I don't waste time pitying the fact that I work in an occupation where I see soul mates having their children. Where children are taken from the wound and snipped from their mother's. Where the tears that cascade down their faces are not of joy, but of sorrow for the child they know will never understand why they love the sunset and why they enjoy the Fall.

But that's why I don't work in that category. I'm a doctor, was once an Army doctor, but I restrained myself to avoiding that branch. The branch of the children and laboring women. It was a sad sight to see and I've met some of the blokes and mates that work in the Sanctuary Zone (where the births are to be held). They are always sad. Smiles appear, but they never reach their eyes. I don't want that to happen to me.

I restrain myself to do mostly minor check ups and, in cases of low staff, ER work. I've been told I work great under pressure. I don't crack and mess up. Most of the doctors in the vicinity value this greatly. To the point that they almost tried to promote me to being a trauma surgeon or a surgeon to work full time in the ER. I declined because it was right next to the Sanctuary Zone. I valued what I had left of my monochrome life compared to what I would lose when I hear the cries and soft regrets.

I treasured what I have without searching for the one to give me more.

_I'm happy._

I'm happy in my own little, colorless world where all I see is black, white, and gray.

"Doctor Watson." I peered up when I heard my name. I noticed the female immediately as one of my good colleagues in this job. Sarah, I believe. She was nice. The first time we met she tapped my hand to see if I was the one, but it wasn't in the stars it seems. Too bad. She was a lovely woman and a even brilliant friend.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts and tried to work an answer through my head. Even my voice in my head was thick with the exhaustion I didn't know I was feeling. That was probably my fault. Workaholic as they say. Since it's either working or going home to my drunk sister and her mate, I'd rather stay here. Even if I work twenty-four hours straight with no break and only coffee to keep me going. It was fine. I would be doing more good here than at home.

"John."

I blinked and gave an apologetic smile, "Sorry. Kind of zoned out."

She shook her head, leaning in the entrance way with concern laced throughout her facial features, "You should go home. Rest. Eat something. No, I don't mean take-out. I mean an actual meal. Sleep in. Working these long shifts are going to drive you mad."

_Not as mad as seeing my sister and her mate arguing despite their guaranteed happiness_ I thought to myself as Sarah continued to give me _that_ look.

Quirking my lip, I smile a little more, "Is that doctor's orders, Sarah? Can I have a note with that to keep my sister and mate away while I'm at it?"

Sarah sighed, "You should be happy for your sister, John. Not many find their soul mates. Even though your sister's relationship may be more... verbal than most, you should be glad."

With a single release of breath, I felt my age getting to me, "I know. I know Sarah. But I don't want to go to the flat and find that perhaps Clara left because Harry said something or Harry went to the pub and Clara is crying. I don't want to be the third wheel to see it all. It's enough to drive any military man mad. I can feel it." God only knows how many times I have witnessed that this week alone.

"Yeah, I know," she spoke before walking towards the desk and laying a clip board on the desk and walking out of the room. I was about to peer at the records when a nurse ran into the room, out of breath and barely catching the door before it slammed on his face.

"Doctor Watson. You're needed in the Emergency Room."

I was gone within a moment, any thoughts of my sister's failing mating out of the window.

Yeah, I was happy.

I was _happy_ in my own little sad, crazy, fatal, monochrome world where all I can see is black, white, and gray.


	2. Muted

_A/N: I got a follower. ;w; For this absolutely horrible story. Thank you. Anyhow, I quickly finished the editing for this chapter so here! Two chapters! How about that? Maybe I can stretch for three? _

_This chapter will introduce our favorite detective~! Of course. I couldn't go too far without mentioning him. He is the only consulting detective in the world. With that said, not much to mention in this chapter since this is, again, another informational chapter, but enjoy it anyways! Read/follow/fav/review. I'm happy with either._

_Good luck understanding this soon-to-be-complex series._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. *sigh*_

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><p><strong><em>Chapter 2: Muted<em>**

Before I enter the room, I slip on latex gloves and a mask. I hate the damn things, but it was all worth it to help a patient.

"What's the causes?" I muttered, cursing myself for my lack of vocabulary at the moment. Perhaps it was the conversation I had with Sarah. I didn't think it affected me at all. Not nearly this much.

Whatever the case may be, I hope the young man got what I meant to say. Maybe I should go home and sleep after this procedure. This wasn't acceptable. I should always be at my top health when it concerns to the life and death of a person under my hands. I don't want a patient to lose a drop of blood because I could have prevented it by eating more.

That's not how a doctor acts and that is not how I act.

The young man beside me looked at me briefly before looking straight ahead. When he spoke his voice was crystal clear and to the point.

"Bullet wound in the lower abdominal area, several cuts varying in deep to shallow along his chest and arms, and he seems to have a cracked bone in the ulna along his right arm. Multiple bruises across the cranium and abdominal areas as well." This kid deserves a raise for all the information he told me without messing up or changing expressions. It made me happy to know he was going to be my aide throughout this ordeal which was no doubt a little domestic in an alley.

Isn't that why most people came to the hospital now? It wasn't for the flu or even a broken arm from falling out of a tree. Now, it was drug smuggling or rape in a dark alley somewhere in the grime zones of the city.

But that doesn't pertain to me. I am a doctor and I have no right to judge a patient no matter what background caused their injuries. The soldier in me would beg to differ, however.

Opening the door, I half expected to see a man unconscious and breathing slowly. It was the usual procedure for the patients who come through this branch. They were to be placed on medication for the pain and in the best position possible for the doctor performing the surgery and for the patient leaving their lives in the doctor's hands.

That is what I expected.

Instead I am met with curious and slightly annoyed eyes. A frown pulled the corner of the man's lips down though I couldn't decipher if it was of thought of frustration. Walking closer, I kept eye contact with the supposedly injured man. I couldn't see the color (when I say color I meant the shade of black or gray) correctly with the amount of lighting this room permitted, but he appeared to be fully awake judging by his pupils and alert stance.

I've been in the military long enough to see that.

My first guess was that my aide might have forgotten to turn the gas on for him to fall asleep, but the young man shook his head at me quickly. He seemed to have read my mind ahead of me.

"I tried to administer the procedures, but he wants to remain awake. He said something along the lines of not trusting his life with doctors who don't know what their doing." He grimaces at the phrase and I could tell the young man didn't like this patient at all. Nonetheless, since he was in the health profession, he would have to remain with tact and act unaffected to these remarks. So far he was doing a good job.

I nodded and continued to make my way to the gurney. Those eyes followed me and I tried not to look at them now that I knew the reason for his surprising alertness. It was a little odd having somebody watching me stitch and take out a bullet, but it wouldn't be the first time. I was an army doctor. This was nothing compared to what I have seen there.

I tapped a few buttons on the side of the technological gurney and it changed to a wider angle that gave me a better view of the wound. Well, wounds I mean.

Those watching eyes never faltered.

"Scalpel," I ordered and the young man placed the instrument in my hands as he cleaned up the wounds for me to stitch later. He was always moving, always getting something done which is what I would be doing if I was in his shoes.

But that wasn't the point. No, right now I needed to continue the examination and not concentrate to much on watching the aide for any mess ups. I could do that later; after I got out the most offending injury. The bullet.

Considering the slash marks, it appeared the patient had a dispute with perhaps a male addict antsy until his next hit. The anxious man cornered the patient and then slashed at him when he wouldn't offer his money no doubt. After getting up from the slashes that were probably meant to make him stay down, the offender panicked and shot him.

_'Then he ran like all the others'_ I added bitterly. The man's eyes slitted and I instantly remembered I was being watched. It was like being evaluated all over again.

Concentrate. Keep your biases to yourself.

Lack of blood on his person. The bullet has clogged the blood flow, which was luck on his part. If he fell any other way, he might have died from the blood loss. He was fortunate it didn't hit his lungs or stomach. That would be even nastier than a simple misfire. In fact, he probably wouldn't even be alive now let alone glaring at me.

Narrowing my eyes, I used my fingers to pull the skin around the bullet wound gently, fully aware of the gaze following my hands. Surprisingly, the man didn't even flinch from the pain he should have felt.

"I gave him a shot of morphine to keep the pain to a minimal since he wouldn't use the anesthetic," The young man added immediately when I glanced at him questioningly. I nodded to show my approval and continued my way into locating the bullet.

It wasn't hard to find. It wasn't even difficult to dislodge from it's location. Nine millimeter. Typical gun. A grim smile crosses my features as I ordered the kid next to me for the forceps. He handed them to me quickly and I pulled out the bullet, dropping it in a tray beside the other tools. While the assistant went to cleaning the bloodied tools, I quickly reduced the bleeding of the wound with a few expert sutures before removing my own reddened hands.

I held my palm out and the aide gave me the tools used for stitching the wound effectively. Sutures would last until the wound heals, but I would have to stitch it otherwise the exterior wound will be able to contract infection. I didn't blame this man for wanting to remain awake. I don't know many people who could actually stitch an actual suture together. The ones that could can easily be placed on one hand.

The needle went in quickly with the suturing keeping the lips of the injury together. I stitched it so it is firmly interlocked but not uncomfortably so. I should know this I have been on that end multiple times and it is awful and irritating. I'm not going to do that to this man who still hasn't moved his gaze from my hands.

Snipping the thread, I backed away for a moment before tackling the next issue. There were the deep cuts along the chest, upper abdominal to be exact, and the arms. They just needed to be stitched up and maybe attached with gauze. The cracked bone would need some plaster perhaps.

The bleeding. I should stop that first. The bone didn't break through the skin, nor is it even broken. He is in no danger for the moment because of the arm.

Cleaning up the few blood drops that protruded from the wound, I stopped my hands when I was finally met with the flinch I was waiting for. Looking at the man, he had his eyes narrowed in pain and I could tell he was taking deep breaths and letting them out choppily. The morphine had burned off. If he wasn't placed on another dose, he might cause some sort of shock to occur on top of the blood leaving through the cuts quicker than before.

I nodded to the aide and he grabbed a syringe. A second later, the syringe was placed on the tray.

"He doesn't want anymore. He says he's fine. Feeling no pain was weird." The aide seemed a little perplexed over that comment but I just found it different.

I laughed at that and shook my head before fixing my composure.

Alright then. I guess I'll continue what I was doing then. I can't deny the patient what he prefers.

Cleaning the wounds without another interruption, they were quickly stitched and covered in gauze leaving the cracked bone probably the easiest out of all of this.

Using the plaster, I took his right arm into my hand and gingerly applied pressure to the upper and lower ulna. He flinched after the smallest amount on the upper. Nodding, I used the plaster and effectively solved the injury. It was a simple sprain. It would probably be mended within the next week.

Backing away from the patient, I slipped off my gloves and grabbed a few dry towels.

"Go tell the infirmary ward that he will be there soon." I motioned for the door and the aide was out within the next second. I proceeded to organize the tools and clean them while waiting for the verdict. Since I was the doctor for his injuries, I would have to be the one to present them to him.

Using the dry towels, I picked up each tool and carried them to the small sink. I was careful not to leave any traces of bodily fluids on the sink or the handle. Who knows what this man may have.

Slowly, the midnight black substance on the metal was washed off leaving it in it's metal shine. I have been told that blood is actually this color called crimson, but I don't know what that looks like. Don't know why I was given the name because now I want to see it. I want to give the color a name.

Too much hopes. I really should stop this nonsense.

It was similar to the feeling of putting a small coin in a jar for hopes of being rich in the future. Improbable.

I felt something pull the long sleeve under my scrubs and I peered up to see the man looking at me with... interest?

"Yes?" I asked with the usual doctor voice. The man rolled his eyes like he wanted me to drop it. He also looked pointedly at the mask covering his mouth for the oxygen.

Right, he couldn't really speak to me with the oxygen mask over his face, now could he?

I judged morals with curiosity and sighed before pulling down the mask.

"I don't think you are supposed to do that after a situation such as this," he mused and I was taken back by how baritone his voice was. It was like melted chocolate, but definitely not in the way that was appealing. Oh no. Definitely not.

Putting the last of my tools aside, I shook my head, "No. But I would assume you are out of the woods. In a few minutes, my aide will return and you will be taken to the infirmary ward."

"I know, I know," he sighed before looking at me with annoyance, "I was here when you said it the first time. I'm injured, captain, not deaf."

I stiffened at the use of my military rank. How did he?

"How did you..."

He waved his hand, dismissing it entirely, "Another time. I'm sure brother dearest is more than likely making arrangements so I am in my own private room. He always does like getting in my business when it is obvious he is unwanted." He continued muttering things about his brother but I couldn't hear anything besides "Fatcroft" or "Meddler".

A smile appeared as I laughed a little at the annoyed man who clearly had a brother with a severe brother complex.

The mutters ceased as the man looked at me with confusion.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," I shook my head, "I just find it amusing how you must be in your late twenties and your brother is still doting on you like a mother hen."

For once, that scowl on the man's face tilted into a smile. I seemed to have amused him. That's good. Scowling didn't fit well with him. Nor did any of the insults he seemed to be accustomed to giving, but that was another topic altogether.

"I assure you, it is as pathetic as it sounds," the man sighed. "But he still finds the need to control my life despite the fact he is clearly unneeded and unwanted. I doubt he will ever get the hint."

I grinned and thought of Harry before kicking the thought out. No, I really don't want to be thinking of her. That was not the same thing as this.

"You will meet him soon no doubt."

I looked up, "Hm? Who?"

He rolled his eyes, "My brother. He will come in and attempt to intimidate you with his brolly and judgmental expression. Just ignore it. It's all for show. Actually, can you do me a favor and perhaps not give in to him entirely? Seeing him flustered would be the best thing." He chuckled lowly and I found myself observing his laughing face. It was depleted of any lines his face had when he frowned or looked annoyed.

"Will do, although I don't see why he would come to me. I'm just one doctor in this place." I shrugged.

"Confidentiality."

"I already do that. It's part of being in the health care," I reminded but the man shook his head, his dark hair bobbing at the movement.

"No. He will want this absolutely silent. He abuses his power really. He's probably in the process of hiding the entire scene so nobody will know," he muttered. He had that look of annoyance on his face. It was humorous really. His brother was trying to help him, or protect himself, and he just wanted to be left alone to his own devices. God, it reminded me of Harry and I. Too much.

Before she found her mate and saw color, well, as much as a_ Pastel_ could see.

Again, I need to refrain from thinking of her. There's nothing I can do to strengthen their bond.

Instead, perhaps I should be preparing myself for this apparently stoic man.

"Why would your brother hide the scene?" I asked curiously.

At this question, the man beside me looked away for a moment. "None of your concern."

_Oh really?_ I glanced at him briefly and then considered the thoughts I fancied earlier. Drug abuser... event gone wrong... oh this fit all too well. "Don't tell me."

He glared at me.

"You? Really? You don't seem the type to get into that lot of garbage."

"Oh sod off, will you?" he groaned. "You're like Mycroft. It was recreational."

"And that recreational garbage happened to land you in this hospital. Congratulations on all the scars on you and a bullet. Seriously, it's not good for you to do that, but if you are aiming to be placed into a grave you are doing a wonderful job," I rolled my eyes and his expression only looked more agitated. God this man was easy to tease or easy to offend. Both maybe.

"So how did it go? Were you there to get a kick and then leave but tried to worm your way out of paying?" I leaned against the wall as he sighed.

"For your information, no. It was not for those reasons. That's all I'm saying for right now." The gaze that was previously fixed on me looked away. Everything changed from interest and peace to a little tense and confusion. The patient never changed from his pose, staring at everything else but myself.

I wanted to laugh. He was acting like a child. A little child who had the tables of persuasion pushed to face him. Since things weren't going his way, he was going to avoid me. Fine. Two can play that game. I happen to be the best when Harry and I would have a dispute. I can definitely make him budge a little.

Before I could initiate a conversation, the aide returned and walked over to me. His face was pale. I think the pouting man on the gurney might have been right.

"Um... we are to not take him to the infirmary ward. They want him in room 221." A private room. Score two.

"And let me guess, the man who probably told you this is probably in my office right now wanting to talk to me?" I rose my brow for emphasis, a grin threatening to form. This was interesting. _Today_ was interesting. I wanted to see how far it would go.

The young man hesitated, shocked it seemed, before nodding and I sighed. Wonderful.

Patting his head, I walked over to the man on the gurney and patted his hand, "See you later I suppose. Try not to irritate the nurses, mate. They are not nearly as patient as I am."

On the way out, I ignored the little tug in my head pointing me to go back to where I came. I ignored the small, minuscule spark that happened the second I touched that man's hand. I ignored all this because surely life wasn't getting easier for my sake. Surely my mate isn't around.

Besides, I don't know anyone who would be the perfect match for me.

Not that I care.

_I don't really want a soul mate. Not now. Not ever._


	3. Restrained

_A/N: Chapter three! I have up to chapter 5 completely written just unedited. If I can get this edited, that will be two more chapters for you to read! Sorry for them being so short. It's rather weird for me since I enjoy 8000 worded chapters. Maybe later on. I just feel really excited about posting this since I have been wanting to put this down into words for so long! It's an AU I made and is original and I feel rather proud of it! _

_Another boring chapter. I'm sorry. I apologize. A lot. It does get better I promise and it should be within the next three? That would be nice. Let's see who actually sticks until then. So, that being said, enjoy this chapter! Sadly, exhaustion is pulling me away but I am determined to fight it off to hopefully try for one more chapter. Hopefully!_

_Read/fav/follow/review! Whatever you like! Just enjoy my story. :) Ciao~_

_P.S. All these chapters are named for words describing color if you are curious!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock_

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><p><strong><em>Chapter 3: Restrained<em>**

The second I walked into the office, I was met with the exact image that man made for me. The only difference was that he wasn't as obese as I thought he would be.

He was standing besides my desk in that mood the man said he would be in. His nose was tilted up and he was looking down at me. His black brolly was beside him as he leaned on it. He was attempting to make me succumb to him.

Sorry, mate. I was a captain in the bloody army. I don't think you are worse than those in that profession.

I observed him for a moment, taking his figure in. He wasn't obese at all. He was actually within a healthy weight from what I can see. His suit was tailored from the looks of it. His hair was styled and eyes pierced mine with a light grey colour. His face was a little unappetizing with the scrutiny written all over it like it was a book.

Seconds passed and his pose didn't change at all. He still remained as posh and agitating as he looked the minute I opened this door.

The exact image as his brother gave me.

First name that came to mind? A pain in the arse. Or prick. Or something I would probably hate if I hadn't been briefed that he had a severe brother complex.

"Hello," I greeted, shutting the door behind me. I continued to stand at the door, not wanting to get close to the man. His stiff air was almost constricting. It almost seemed like if I were to get closer to him I wouldn't be able to breathe. I almost pitied the injured man for having this man as his brother. Harry was never as protective as this git.

Then again, she wasn't the exact version of an ideal sister, not that I am complaining I suppose.

"Hello Doctor Watson." He nodded in my direction and motioned for me to sit at my desk. Great.

Not wanting to be rude, I sat in my chair. It was cold and stiff, like the man in front of me. The man in question then proceeds to move until he was in front of my desk. His hands never touched my little items on my desk, fingers remaining stilled on the handle of his brolly. He was much taller than me now that I was sitting down. Ah, the intimidation trick his brother warned me of. Right. Ignore it. Give him hell. Can do.

The soldier in me already was willing to comply with this request. Bad habits die hard, right?

"You don't have to try that trick on me. I have already spoken to your brother," I almost smirked as his eyes widened ever so slightly before regaining their composure.

"And you seem to have spoken to him without my consent. That's not very wise of you," he spoke lowly. My reaction didn't change though the atmosphere certainly did. It seemed to have dropped 10 degrees. Why didn't he just drop it? I just caught him and he is still trying to use it on me. Really. Now he was just being a prick.

Of course I already got that image to begin with.

"He's old enough to make his own decisions," I countered. "You just don't seem to get that, do you? He is no longer in need of any adult supervision. In fact, when I spoke to him he seemed increasingly annoyed of you getting into all of this. Maybe you should take the hint."

After saying this, I cursed at my quick tongue. Not wise, Watson. You are a doctor. You are not even this patient's _friend_. You have no right to tell his brother how to be one. I must say, however, I didn't regret it long.

The opulent man's was priceless. Absolutely priceless. The patient was once again correct about his brother's reaction. His face flushed up, though I couldn't compare it to a color like the Iredscence can. They often say one flushes up like a strawberry, but I don't see anything similar. I guess the hue can be similar or the color scheme. To me, all that appeared was a darker shade of gray that doused his cheeks to his ears and down his collar.

I would have laughed if I wasn't in my office where anybody could squeal at my very obvious misconduct in display of dismay for the man that stood like he had the world in his hands to control.

God I hated control freaks.

Within a minute, the color went back to it's normal scheme and the atmosphere seemed to waver. The man pursed his lips, "I'm sure you know why my brother was injured so?"

I rolled my eyes, "Of course. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out Mr...?"

"Holmes. Mycroft Holmes," he responded before narrowing his eyes in what must be an amused expression, "I'd thought you would have gotten the name from Sherlock by this point."

Ah, okay. So the name of the immature adult in the ER room was Sherlock Holmes. Got it. It was nice to finally apply a name to the face in room 221.

"I don't like to get in somebody's business, Mr. Holmes," I shrugged but my voice was stern like a doctor protecting one's confidentiality. In a way, I kind of was I suppose.

"And yet here you are getting into his and my business by telling me to retreat," he smirked as I couldn't think of what to say. He had me there. I had it coming.

Rubbing my face with exhaustion, I peered over my hand at the smug man, "Fine. Touche. What are you doing here Mr. Holmes?" This man was beginning to wear on me. Not in intimidation, but in his attitude. It was rather annoying and childish. Like a rich kid who didn't know what to do with himself so he made the lives others miserable with meddling in their business.

And now he was in mine.

Because I was in his brother's.

I wanted to groan at my luck.

"I just want you to keep everything that is of my brother completely invisible. Away. Burned. I really don't care how you do it. Just do it." There was that intimidating look again.

"And if I don't?" I didn't like him. I didn't like the fact that he was testing me like a child. I hated being thought below others. And this prat is the definition of all that I disliked in all those people. So, naturally, I mindlessly replied in rebellion. I have the army to blame for that. It should have beat it out of me but it only made it worse.

Mycroft neared me. The look changed from minor intimidation to serious in an instant and I found myself tapping my leg in the slightest amount of nervous anxiety. I didn't show it in my face. I met his glare with one of my own. Probably not as strong, but definitely as fixated. I would show him. Not for his child of a brother, but because I really didn't like him and I wanted to prove he couldn't knock me aside like any other Monochrome in this building.

I'm pretty sure now that I think of it that it's my inner army captain speaking. I never was one for taking orders. Well, I suppose now it's coming back to bite me in the arse.

"Did Sherlock ever tell you what kind of power I hold, Doctor Watson?" he spoke with the undertones of power. It was like his voice vibrated to emphasize how much trouble I would be in if I responded incorrectly.

"No, he didn't. He just told me you enjoyed controlling him," I responded briskly. I could feel the hairs along my arms begin to stand on edge.

Mycroft sighed, "He is really full of dramatics, isn't he? No. I'm not some control freak. I'm sure if you were to mention me again to him, he would call me the government."

"Now look who's the dramatic one," I muttered and he paused to glare at me before continuing. I just wanted to laugh, but decided it would break this lovely tense atmosphere. It felt like one of those detective movies. All it was missing was the hanging lamp and completely blacked out room.

"As I was saying," he glared at me again as to make a point. I rose my brow in his direction which probably didn't help my situation, "I am the government. Not just figuratively, but literally. I fail to see the point in explaining such liberal thoughts to you so ask my brother at some point since you both appear to be... pals." He spoke the last word with such distaste that I assumed he didn't have any.

Poor bloke. Everyone deserves a friend. Now, I'm not going to try and be his friend, but somebody should. I wondered for a second if he had found his mate yet. Or, on that rare occasion, if he was one of those who didn't have mates. The Sombres.

Leaning back away from the pitiful man, I let out a slow breath, "I get it, Mr. Holmes. No need to pull off all the stops. I assume that if I mention this to a bloke over lunch you will some how make me non-existent?"

He glared at me and I nodded," Alright. Got it. No need to worry about me, Mr. Holmes. I'm just a simple doctor. Might I also add that I would never risk the confidentiality of patients. I am not permitted to do so so I would never perform such acts of slander. Please understand." I smiled and watched him stiffen before scuttling out of the room.

The black, white, and gray room.

I thought of Sherlock and grinned. Well, I gave him hell. As much hell as I could give without him sending me off to another country or whatever. I could see why he didn't like him too much.

Though, he's probably just being the usual sibling. Rather overprotective if you ask me, but still a sibling. Maybe he's making up for avoiding Sherlock in the past. Maybe he never acted as Sherlock's brother. That is entirely possible, but it isn't my area to judge. I really don't know and I would rather not get into the business of the ever elusive Holmes family. God. It sounds like one big drama.

I felt my mind begin to wander and let out a sigh.

My mind wandered back to the Sombres.

Perhaps the bloke was so angry because he hasn't found his mate. I know a few like that. Don't stray too long because then they get too touchy-feely with the alcohol and all. Perhaps Mycroft is a Sombre? That could make sense I suppose. Maybe.

Sombres are people who might not have a mate. They are rare and no test has ever been done in the science field as to why they exist, but it does occur sometimes. Those people are the hardest to be around. Sombres are one of the most difficult people to talk to or become friends with. They stick to family and only that. They rarely communicate with others and try to make them avoid their being entirely. It's a sad little sub-division in the Monochrome society.

Or, and this is highly doubtful, maybe he is a Discoloured? I don't think he has found his mate so it is unlikely, but you can never tell with people like him.

That's another sub-division in the Monochrome society. Discolours are men and women who had a mate but the said mate died. It can be natural or unnatural. It doesn't matter. This people are like the Sombres, but not quite as unsocial. They are just really... sad people. I could understand why.

When you're a discoloured individual, your color doesn't stay. Instead, the color slowly drains. Gradually, your vision fades back to the Monochrome ways. Black, white, and gray. Most can't cope with it. That's another reason why I avoid the branch where the Sanctuary Zone is located. Right next to it is the Coping Zone. That's where the Discoloured that can't face their fate go to.

It's not the same as insanity. They don't go crazy and attack people. Instead, they go through the common phases that most people in denial or depression fall under. Avoiding people. Rarely eating. Constantly crying but making no sound. It's very depressing and the staff that work there have to make up for that lacking emotion by smiling for them. Also, those said staff can never under any circumstance be of Iridescence, Pastel, or Opalescence. It only makes their situation worse.

Yet another zone I try to avoid. I suppose it's that entire area to be honest. I do it in a way fellow mates won't know of my irregular avoidance of the zones.

Looking at the clip board on my desk, I flipped the papers a few times to peer at all the information for my next patient in the Clinical Zone. Behind him were several others who would come right after he and so on.

It was going to be a long day before I have my chat with Sherlock Holmes. I would have my chat with him.

After all, I still didn't know how he knew I was a captain. He was interesting and different from the usual.

I definitely wasn't going to see him because of the spark. _That was not the reason._ Because I didn't deserve a mate at all. Not with my past and certainly not with my future.

But friends would be okay I suppose.


	4. Dappled

_A/N: A fourth chapter. I didn't expect this. I thought I would pass out but that clearly isn't the case or this wouldn't be here, now would it? I can't wait to get the last two updated so then I can get to the really interesting stuff. Two more informational chapters and character presentations and we get into the story! I have so much in store you have no idea. It's a lot. If you read my notes for this story and saw the character designs, it would be a lot._

_Okay, because this is mentioned later and I am unsure and half asleep, I can't remember if I mentioned who they are. They are mentioned in the next chapter if I am correct, but I want to clear it up now since it isn't cleared up in this chapter specifically._

_Translucents: They don't belong to the Monochrome or the Iridescence divisions. They are practically a mistake in the genes that cause them to be severely different. Their skin is very pale and are translucent so you can see their veins and organs clearly. They are bin but they see white in this blindness, not black. Their hair is nonexistent or white. They also have sharp cheek bones and a malnourished figure. As for mentality, they are intelligent and can "deduct" who you are regardless of sight. They whisper for communication but what they say is often important. _

_That is the break down of my notes. It killed me to write that little on these types. Especially since I worked so hard on them! Oh well, you will see them eventually and maybe I can go into more depth._

_So, with that said, read/fav/follow/review! Enjoy the chapter! I'll try for chapter five though that is unlikely. ^^"_

_Ciao~_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock _

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><p><strong><em>Chapter 4: Dappled<em>**

Leaning against my desk chair, I sighed. Today was just as predicted. A very long day full of patients and the usual topics of conversation. It wasn't the patients fault. It never was the patients fault. It was just the fact that I have been ignoring sleeping and eating for the past two days and it is beginning to catch up with me. Severely. I could feel my eyelids threatening to fall as I stared at these notes to write down prescriptions and the like.

My vision blurred a little as my eyelids fluttered and I brought my hand up to rub the sleep away. I just have to put my signature and I'm done with this patient. With a flick of my wrist and a few slashes in between, I saw my name written on the form in what was known among the people as "_doctor's scrawl_".

Well, if you were about to fall off your heels in exhaustion, stress, and other unhealthy aspects, I suppose your signature wouldn't be in the best state either.

Flipping the page up, I did the same to that page and dropped the previous page on it.

Alright... next patient. Who's next?

Picking both of the pages up, I blinked when I came to the end of the clipboard. Only a plastic grey board was behind the page. It took me a second too long to register what this meant. Wait. I'm done? My last patient has already come? How did I not notice?

I thought back to how many patients I had. A total of eight patients. Their visits were a blur but certainly they didn't go by that quickly.

But they had and I felt the stress lift off my shoulders when I realized what this meant.

I couldn't hide the little grin that crossed my features. I shouldn't be this happy about a patient within my care. It was wrong but I had a feeling Sherlock was a very peculiar exception to these morals. So far he had been to all the ones I had previously set for myself when I entered this profession. I don't know how. Maybe it was his attitude or some other aspect that slithered in and sidled next to my rebellious nature.

Whatever the reason, I was anticipating the meeting with Sherlock Holmes. I already had to go to his room to deliver any and all injuries he managed to contract and ways to move without stressing them. It would be a strictly professional visit. My mates wouldn't think anything of the fact that I might have a little skip in my walk just to meet the younger Holmes.

My grin faltered.

Then again, I was also a tad anxious. This anxiety just made me all the more curious of the man, but I still couldn't hide the fact that what he knew of me was very intriguing since I have never met him before in my life. How could he have known something of my past that I have kept strictly hidden? He's not even a Translucent. It's obvious that he is the common Monochrome, but the way he was able to tell I was a captain was very surprising.

And definitely interesting. Damn it all.

Smiling, I was about to get up and retrieve my stuff to leave after the conversation when a knock came to my door. A second later, an average height woman with short white (maybe blond if color existed) hair peeked in. I saw her hair bob slightly at the movement when she peered at me from behind the door. The smile only spread. Mary. Right, didn't I promise to take her out tonight?

She grinned in response, "Hey John."

I nodded in her direction, "Mary."

"You ready?" She motioned to the door she just came through as if to tell me to get off my arse and out this door. She was definitely the tough one. She may appear sweet and innocent, but I have been on the opposite end of her anger – mostly when under alcohol – and she has a mean right hook. My jaw still hurts from the contact. Still, she was a good friend and a long lasting one as well.

See how I say friend? We are not soul mates, though that didn't seem to bother us. Friends worked. She was, along with Sarah, one of the first people to actually come up to me and help me around when I first applied here. She was also a friend before all of this, knowing me as far back as before I went to the military.

She was a good friend. I would be lying if I said I didn't wish for the opposite though.

"Yeah, give me a second. I need to go to one more patient before we leave. Deliver the usual news." I didn't tell her how I might take a tad longer for my own selfish reasons, but she nodded nonetheless. She knew me and that smile only emphasized that.

"Alright. Just don't take more than an hour, John," she waggled her finger at me, "Or I will come in no matter what you are doing and will drag you out by those ears of yours." And she was serious. I almost instinctively covered my ears but barely kept my hands down. She would do it too. Maybe not too hard, but she would definitely do it if she had to.

She walked out the door and I grabbed my jumper and gray-coloured folders before flipping the lights off and shutting the door behind me.

I strolled down the corridor to the stairs. If I was correct, the 200s should be along floor 4. So that would be one floor below me. Well that's convenient.

Quickly going down the steps, I looked at each room until I found room 221. It was in the most desolate part of the corridor and I smiled sadly when I realized that was probably the point of this.

I was about to knock on the door, but a voice stopped me before I had the chance.

"Come in Doctor Watson."

Temporarily stunned, I walk in and grin sheepishly. Sherlock was sitting there, ignoring the platter of food placed on his cot and pressing random buttons on the telly. He didn't look amused. If anything, he looked very very bored.

Closing the door, I walked over to the chair and sat beside him. I didn't know what to say so I just went into doctor mode and began to explain his injuries in detail. He didn't stop me.

"Your injuries are not too severe. For that, you are lucky. If the bullet had lodged itself in the lungs you might have been in worse condition than simple bed rest. That being said, the stitching should hold for common household chores and the like but no strenuous work or the sutures will be pulled. Keep off them and let them dissolve or if you would like them out as soon as possible, you can come in two weeks from now and I will personally remove them after a thorough check up."

I paused to see if he caught on. He gave a jerky nod and I continued.

"The cuts are in a range from shallow to deep. Certain ones had to be stitched to cease blood loss, but it was only a select few. Again, no strenuous activity or these could be pulled and the scenario can be made worse. Other cuts will heal over time. Be sure to replace the gauze or have someone help you with it daily. I would advice you to take a shower in two days from now, but it's optional depending on your hygienic preferences."

Picking his arm up, the one plastered and under a long sleeve shirt, I motioned to the fractured ulna, "I advise to not use this arm. It is best. At least wait a week before doing anything with pressure. Too much pressure and the ulna could break. Then you would be back here again." The whole time I said this I ignored that little spark that occurred. It must mean he was close to what my mate will be like. Definitely.

After putting his arm down and discerning the little spark as an accident in my genes, I looked at Sherlock. He was watching me with this curious expression which quickly changed to indifference as I caught it.

"Are you done?" he prompted.

I nodded and he sighed.

"Finally. I was getting bored having to catalog all of that information. Really, could you doctor's get any duller? I highly doubt it. Then we would have a real epidemic on our hands now wouldn't we, captain?" I winced at the title again.

Ah! Right!

"Wait, how did you know that?" I stopped him and he eyed me with amusement.

"Oh? The military stature you uphold? Simple. If you want more, I can tell that you are a Monochrome, have a older sibling – brother no doubt –, has a little hobby in art, no relationships because you gave up on them. Do you want more?"

I sat there stunned. Shaking my head, I felt the grin fall on my face, "Yes. Can you tell me how you did that?"

He seemed taken aback by my interest but complied with a few murmurs, "Military. Clearly returned from across seas perhaps three weeks ago. The tan line on your hands and the striking contrast under the scrubs is more proof. Also, you still have the indention that point to dog tags. You can't wear them in the hospital, but you wear them everywhere else. Your posture points to highly trained and the stern voice you gave your pathetic aide was one of higher rank than a typical greenie but not as high as a Lieutenant. Captain was a guess, but a good one." He shrugged and I stood their like a bass fish. That was brilliant. Absolutely.

"And the Monochrome and sibling?" I pushed on and he raised a brow. Surprised. I caught him by surprise. For some reason I felt like I should be proud of that.

"Monochrome was easy. Ridiculously so. If you were Iridescent you would have a white aura around you and if you were Discoloured, it would be a black aura instead but neither exist on your person. Additionally, you are not avoiding people or warding them off therefore you can't be a Sombre. Process of elimination. Monochrome. As for the sibling, it was more so speculation than deduction. When I spoke of my brother, you stiffened. This probably meant you had a sibling that passed or someone that you seem to have a very thin-ice relationship with. Now, that could mean brother or sister. I assumed older sibling considering your sudden understanding. If you were older, you would defend Mycroft for wanting to protect me and all that rubbish but you didn't. Instead, you sympathized with me and stayed on my side. Younger siblings tend to do that. Next, brother. Specifically, a brother who drinks, but that is another matter. The bracelet around your wrist says Clara but seeing as you are of no relationship status, it must belong to a brother. Pastel soul mate no doubt."

I let this reel in as I watched his expression course from blatant annoyance to slight amusement.

"And my... relationship?" I stammered and he pursed his lips.

Sherlock looked like he was about to answer but peered over my shoulder to the small window on the door, smirking, "I believe that will have to wait. You seem to have somebody waiting for you. Friend?"

I laugh, "Yeah, friend. I promised her to drinks after I talked to you."

He didn't laugh with me, I noticed. He didn't seem like he liked the relationship sort. I kind of felt bad for the bloke.

"Well, if your curious, your talents are brilliant." I grinned and he was taken aback again. Yes! Two times in a row.

"Really? Most people assume I'm a Translucent who dyed their hair and got some sort of skin make up," he shrugged but I could tell my answer meant a big deal to the man.

"No. You are definitely not a Translucent. You're Monochrome for sure. As for your talents, absolutely astounding. Extraordinary. Why would others think any different? It's... breath taking." The man's features softened and he gave a small smile. I didn't expect a thanks and assumed this was it. Picking up my stuff, I throw my jumper on and briefly think of one thing that stuck out in his deductions.

"But!" I let a smirk fall on my face, "I don't have a brother. Sister. Her name is Harriet."

His expression plummeted to self-annoyance. I watched in amusement as he cursed about "missing one detail" and "always forgetting one".

Deciding to leave him on that note, I start to make my way to the door and gripped the door handle. My hand was about to turn when a voice called out to me in the silence. I never realized the grumbles had stopped.

"John?"

I looked back, "Yes? Do you need anything?"

He hesitated before speaking slowly, "I was wondering if you would come to this room tomorrow? I want to ask you something but I would rather not keep you from your friend."

I nodded and smile, "Sure, mate! See you later. Don't stay up too late. Seems your brother is running this room."

This earned a groan from Sherlock and I snickered on my way out. Mary looked at me with curiosity.

"What happened in there Doctor Watson?"

I shook my head, "nothing. Just idle chit chat."

She stopped, "Are you sure?"

I stopped next to her, "Yeah. I'm sure. I told him of his injuries and he told me something absolutely extraordinary. That's it. Why?"

She looked at me from head to toe, lips pursed. After a minute she gave me a small look that I could discern if it was worry or amusement.

"Well, John. Don't know if you can tell, but you're glowing."

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><p><em>Very very brief end AN! Mary is a friend in this story! I love her character and wanted her in here so she will probably be one of the few major aspects to promote the ship in this! I thought it wrong to keep her out since her character design is absolutely lovely. Not to mention it would amazing to write a badass (sorry) Mary eventually._

_Ciao~!_


	5. Delicate

_A/N: I was going to stop for the night, but I only had two more chapters to edit before I actually have to write one and I decided why not? There will be errors since I am dead tired and it's almost 5am where I live. I think the storm outside is keeping me awake since it always inspires me. Odd... and a tangent... Anyhow, what I mean to say is there will be one more chapter for this hour I think after this one. I'll strive for one more sometime during today, but who knows? I have a lot of school things to do._

_Now for the story. One, you will meet a OC I created that will play a role in this series soon but not immediately. Took me a bit to figure her out, but I think she will be something different. Also, Sherlock! He clearly can't be normal and in this, he isn't! You will see why and how and it will slowly click into place for his antics and characteristics. Enjoy!_

_Read/follow/fav/review! Enjoy the chapter! Ciao~_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock_

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><p><strong><em>Chapter 5: Delicate<em>**

"_Well, John. Don't know if you can tell, but you're glowing."_

Yeah, I needed another drink. I haven't had enough yet. Not nearly.

I was acting pathetic. This was supposed to be one fantastic night with Mary to celebrate her promotion, but now it's ended up a drink-until-you-drop party just to drown out what happened. Mary didn't say anything but smiled sympathetically and would joke around every so often. I kept my hand on a shot at all times. My rational side told me to stop this, but rationality was out the window the second I was told I was glowing.

_Glowing_.

God. Maybe it was the light. Yeah, that's it. Somebody placed a lamp behind me and made it appear I had an aura of a Iridescence. Must be it. No other way.

Because I definitely did not find my soul mate.

Preposterous.

I took another shot and ordered a back up.

I could feel my capacity to think slowly go down the drain. I should know better. I should. I am a bloody doctor. I know drinking messes up your systems and I know it doesn't solve anything. I mean, I have Harry to show for that. Drinking doesn't solve anything and yet that appears to be the Watson way of dealing with things. My father and Harry would be oh so proud of me joining their little troupe of alcoholics.

Except I'm not good at holding my liquor nor do I have an endurance. After perhaps a few pints and one or two shots, I could feel my last smidgeon of rationality fly out the window with an SOS sign attached to it.

Luckily I had Mary with me or I would be royally caught in a jam.

"John. It's not that bad. Maybe it's just he weird lighting. You know how the hospital lights are," she spoke, patting my back. I sighed and looked at her. She gave a smile back but I could tell she didn't like me drinking. I didn't like it either.

And yet I somehow found another shot in my hand.

"Yeah... but... but... still. I mean... ugh. I can't concentrate with my... my head like this," I groaned and Mary patted my back again.

"At least your speech isn't slurred," she added cheerfully and I laughed humorlessly.

"Yet."

She didn't say anything to that and continued to help me along my miserable path of being a utter drunk.

"Mary," I squeezed my eyes shut (like that would help) and opened them to look at her.

"Hm?" she responded, sipping her drink thoughtfully as she watched the telly in the pub.

"I'm... I'm sorry for tonight. I really am. I don't know why that whole glowing thing caught me by surprise since normally I don't get caught by surprise because I'm an army man you know and nothing can catch me off guard but that one little phrase did and-" I continued to ramble and ramble and Mary's expression changed to one of amusement. After a minute of this, she placed her index finger over my lips and hushed me. I continued to apologize with my eyes.

"Oh goodness John. I am having an interesting time. Maybe not as astounding as a dinner for two could have been, but something new. For one," she grinned, "I found that you are a very emotional drunk."

"'m not," I mumbled and she pressed her index finger more firmly against my lips.

"Listen to me. Tomorrow, go back to that man's room. I don't support denial, but if that what helps you through this drinking habit you might pursue, do it. Although, I will say that after a while you won't be able to discern it as lighting or a lightning strike. But until that time comes just continue to act as you normally do. Besides," she giggled, "That man didn't seem the type for you John. Perhaps it was my sight. Maybe."

She moved her finger to place both of her hands on either side of my face, "Do you understand what I am saying, John?"

I nodded and she smiled before kissing my forehead. Any other passerby would view it as affection, but it was just Mary being Mary. She was very mother hen like and doted on most of her friends like she was their godmother of sorts. It's why so many people like her at the hospital. She's also one of the few people who work in the Sanctuary and Coping Zones without changing psychologically. My first friend and my back up mother. Didn't expect it to mix when I first saw her.

After making me drink a glass of water and munching on some chips to help the liquor, she pushed me into a cab, paid for my fare, and then sent me home.

Morning came too quickly.

The next day I was tempted to call in sick. Very tempted. So tempted in fact that talking to Sherlock Holmes was almost not enough to get me out of bed. Luckily for my job and that childish man, I have a driving force in this flat.

That being Harriet.

"John!" she cried, pulling the blankets off of me. I resulted in grabbing my pillow and stuffing it in my face, ignoring the pulsing head ache and turning to avoid the sunlight piercing the curtains.

"Oh no you don't," she huffed before wrestling with me for the pillow. It was futile on my case. I was weakened by the abuse of alcohol. She took it without a problem and I didn't have anything left to do but just plunge my face into the mattress itself. No. I was not getting up as long as that damn sun was up.

I heard a sigh and a second later Harry was beside me, "John. Do you really wish me to repeat what happened last time you did this? I could definitely get those water guns if you want." I was up in an instant although I quickly hated the movement and used my hands to shield my eyes. Harry got the hint real quick.

Leaving the room temporarily, she came back with a glass of water and a pill I assumed would help with this blinding head ache. She sat down next to me on the mattress and coaxed the glass into my hands with the pills. I took them quickly before hiding my face again.

Why. Why did I drink? Why couldn't I have been rational? Damn it. And the hospital was full of windows. Today was going to be grand. Absolutely grand.

"John," Harry poked me and I glared at her before closing my eyes, "Why did you go drinking? Normally you are the designated driver, not the one to get completly wasted. So what was it? Coworker? Bad day at work I assume?" I didn't reply but she could tell. She was my sister after all.

"You know drinking is not going to fix the problem," she reminded and I laughed with no amusement.

"Really? You do it a lot regardless." She stiffened at that and stood, sighing.

"Fine. I'll go get Clara. Maybe she can help. I'm not good with being sensible. That's why I have her," I knew she was grinning and when I peeked up she was gone. A minute later another hand, smaller and thinner, touched my shoulder and I met the calm eyes of Clara. She looked worried. Goodness, when isn't she worried? She had to deal with Harry.

Covering my eyes once more, I continued to stare at the kind floor. I saw the outline of my shadow and Clara's next to it.

She didn't say anything. She left me to wallow in my pain and I began to feel guilty. That was the "Clara Charm" though, as Harry called it. Making you feel bad when you know you did nothing. Absolutely nothing.

"Clara? What did you do when you thought you might have found your mate?" I asked with exhaustion, squinting a little into the light. I might as well get used to it.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "Did you?" I shook my head quickly.

"Uh... no. Not me. A bloke at work. Thinks he found her, but he's not sure." And then I somehow made the mistake of averting my eyes, the key tell-tale sign of lying. If Clara caught it she didn't say anything to it.

"Well... then this mate of yours should maybe spend more time with the specific girl. You know, get to know her. After a bit maybe then he can bring it up to her and go from there. They shouldn't rush it. That's a sign for a horrible bond," she smiled and I realized why this was Harry's mate and why even though she may be drunk and gone in the haze of irrationality, she still comes home.

Part of me wished to have someone like that while the other half was against it. Independent. The soldier. Ever the soldier that wishes for nobody to rely on.

Clearing my throat, I nodded, "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Thanks Clara."

Standing up with me, she kissed me on the cheek and walked out with a short-handed wave, "Anytime John."

Within the next fifteen minutes along with a helping cup of tea, I was gone. Harry had a pair of sunglasses in her fingers, but I didn't take them. I could just see the giggles she would give if I took them. Mainly because they were hers and she knew it. Female glasses on me? I'll pass. Gratefully.

When I walked in, Mary was at my side in an instant. She gave me this look of sympathy and I sighed.

"I regret drinking," I groaned.

"Says everyone who has a hangover," she replied with a smirk before handing over a clipboard with my patients for today.

"We don't have that many today so after you get them, you can probably go home. I don't think Sarah would mind too much. Besides, you and her are mates so she probably wouldn't care," Mary shrugged with a smile. I nodded, looking forward to the early release.

Well, after I talk with Sherlock.

Waving goodbye, I headed to the Clinical Zone, mentally cringing as I passed by the Sanctuary Zone to get there. I could already hear the wails and cries. The hang over didn't help that and made it so much worse.

I glance at the clipboard and nodded.

_Name: Lucille Faye_

_Age: 11_

_Race/Division: Translucence _

_Symptoms: Patient says she was attacked by one of the Violent Vicinity. Scratches and possible sprained wrist. Check for concussion. Otherwise, perfectly fine. _

_Additional notes: She is quite shy. Don't make any quick movements._

Knocking on the door, I waited a few seconds before walking in. I was met with a tiny girl, clearly Translucence, with short, wavy hair of a white color. I could see the veins and malnourished figure closely associated with the Translucent sort and knew this was Ms. Lucille.

"Hello Lucille," I greeted and walked slowly toward her. She stiffened a little, her eyes looking at me and not seeing me. I waited a second and she relaxed after a shook her hand. She offered a shaky smile. Oh, the poor girl. This was probably her first time being here in the hospital and by the looks of the records, she's orphaned. She probably wanted to run back to her group by this point.

I fetched the bandages and slowly coaxed her arms from her chest to wrap them, "What happened to you if you don't mind me asking, Ms. Faye?" I have to be calm which wasn't too hard.

"The... The Violence got to me," was all she replied in her soft whisper. I nodded.

"Did they do anything else to you?" If so, I was going to have to call the New Scotland Yard to tell them of this. They won't be able to do much, but they can try to protect her kind a little. God, the Violent Vicinity was getting out of order.

The Violent Vicinity is much like the Translucent. Actually, they are exactly like them. They are severely pale with skin so translucent that anybody can see the veins and organs of their being. They are advanced mentally and can tell almost anything about you. On top of that, they have the malnourished figure and sharp cheekbones the type carries.

That being said, they do hold their differences.

Their blood is black. It can be viewed by a Monochrome or Iridescence and still be black. They are very cocky and have red (or so I hear from the Iridescence) eyes that change to silver when angered unlike the Translucence's blue – yet another color I would like to assign to this name – eyes.

Of course they have to be the opposite of the Translucence. Their goal is to get rid of them actually and it's because of that that we have so many of the Translucence coming into this hospital. They try their hardest to get rid of them. That's probably what happened to poor Lucille here.

Wrong place wrong time.

Snipping the bandages, I rubbed the frayed edge to the other bandage and smoothed it out. I took care of her other injuries with little to no conversation. If I did speak, it would be to tell her what I was doing to make her feel at ease. Nothing promotional nor of information worthy. Just to keep her calm and relaxed. I didn't want her to be scared in such a safe haven.

Within half an hour everything was done. She hopped down and was about to go to the door when I called to her.

"Ms. Faye?"

She froze, but it wasn't in fear. I think I just surprised her really.

Turning around slowly, she looked to where my voice came from and I smiled. I handed her a piece of candy. Nothing more than a lollipop, but her face brightened immediately once she realized what it was. A smile bloomed and it was worth it.

"Doctor Watson?" she murmured.

I nodded.

"Thank you."

My grin widened and I replied as I usually do, "You are very welcome. Please be careful from here on. I don't want you back here unless it's just a stroll, you here?" She giggled and nodded before walking out with a wave.

I sighed, the lingerings of a smile on my face. Now, for the next patient.

Turned out the other patients were check ups for the elderly. Mostly Monochrome. One of the Sepia Order and one of the Sombre divisions. It was all easy and I finished them with the greatest of ease. Everyone left happy – except for the Sombre but no one could help their cause – and I was left feeling like I fulfilled my good deeds of the day.

That's when I saw the last name on the list.

_Sherlock Holmes._

I was about to dismiss it and put it down for the moment when an extra paper behind it caught my attention. This wasn't here before . I know this wasn't here before because I am Sherlock's personal doctor until he is healed. Mary couldn't have placed this here or anybody for that matter. Who would put this here then? It is clearly about Sherlock Holmes judging from the name on top.

_Mycroft Holmes_.

Everything clicked. Of course. He's probably trying to get me to leave Sherlock alone. Sadly, that doesn't seem to be happening anytime soon.

The clipboard tipped towards the desk where I was going to put it but curiosity gripped me. It was in my documents and if Mycroft placed this here then surely this is fine for me to read? I have his consent.

Taking a deep breath, I peered at the paper. I was immediately met by a note by yours truly.

_Doctor Watson, _

_Seeing as you will be Sherlock's doctor as well as his companion while he is there, I am going to give this to you. You are to, under no circumstances, show this to Sherlock or tell him of this. Do not tell anyone else of what this is. Do not keep this. Burn it if you will. I would rather not have this document go into the wrong hands and I trust that after you read this you will learn why Sherlock is under my jurisdiction. _

_-Mycroft Holmes_

Pursing my lips, I took off the note and placed it aside.

The paper underneath was clearly for the government. Or, at least, it was under that high of security. Underneath the symbol was Sherlock's full name, age, and everything about him. It was all normal, like any Monochrome, except for one detail.

_Name: Sherlock William Scott Holmes_

_Age: 36_

_Race/Division: Monochrome*_

That was the normal objectives in this form. The exception was the asterisk. It was practically an entire report on an event which lead to more conclusions and less confusion.

_*At the age of 12, Sherlock Holmes was subjected to certain tests due to an illness he contracted that was close to being terminal. In the case of these tests, he was cured of the disease and never showed symptoms to even having it in the first place. However, to be cured of this illness, his gene structure was changed by the methods used. The drug administered, a type influenced by the Translucence, enabled him to show distinct changes similar to their stature. He can see though his eyes are of their blue. He always appears malnourished and his skin seems to have paled from his earlier hue. On top of that, his mental skills have increased to profound levels, going as far as to be able to "deduct" people and what they have done. Confidentiality level: 5_

Some of the details made some sense now. Like his skin color and the pale grey in his eyes that seem to apply to the color blue. His deductions and almost most of what made him stand out suddenly made sense.

For some reason I didn't like knowing this. The mystery was one of the best factors of this man. Not to mention, why can't Sherlock know about this? Why doesn't he remember? I have to abide by confidentiality, but at the same time I wanted to break it to show Sherlock.

Sighing I folded the paper and stuck it in the inner linings of my jacket and walked out the door, flipping the lights.

I didn't care about the note. I didn't care at all. Definitely not. What I did care about was going to see Sherlock.

Right. He wanted to talk to me, didn't he?

Well, I suppose my day was going to be a little bit more interesting before I leave.

As if it hadn't been already.


	6. Psychedelic

_A/N: Short chapter I am sorry. It barely covers 2000 words and it annoys me but I couldn't have extended it anymore without using extended metaphors and all the poetic stops I love to use with all my heart. Again, there will be errors since sleep is sadly a thing in my life. After this chapter things will finally speed up a little bit! I can't wait!_

_I enjoy a little bit of a sassy/over-reactive John every so often so this is that time. I use him a lot since he's almost as much fun to write as Moriarty. God... Moriarty! That's another character altogether I can't wait to bring back~! Okay okay. I'm getting ahead of myself. Onto the story. Then sleep. Finally._

_Read/follow/fav/read! Enjoy the story! Ciao~_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock_

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><p><strong><em>Chapter 6 – <strong><em>Psychedelic<em>**_**

Opening the door, I wasn't surprised to see the detective glaring at what the meal the nurses delivered to him.

"This is rubbish," he spoke with disgust. I rose a brow in his direction but he failed to see the mocking expression.

"That '_rubbish_' is what every patient in this hospital gets when they have to stay longer than a few hours. Jello and easy to eat accommodations."

A gagging noise seemed to crawl up Sherlock's throat but never made it to his mouth. Well, I'm sorry Princess. I can't bring you fancy food when nobody else can get the same. It was unequal and it wasn't in my morals. But of course I didn't mention this. It would be like arguing with a little kid wanting a lollipop instead of a biscuit.

Sherlock pushed his tray away from him with his good arm.

"And you wonder why the patients stay here longer than they should," he muttered and I sighed. Really. He was practically like a child – _again_ – who wanted candy and junk food for his hospital meals. He needs to realize he isn't getting special treatment here. Even children don't get special treatment and normally they are more pampered than anyone in this building. Thank God I don't work in that department. It would end up in an early retirement.

I sat in the chair beside his cot and watched him flip through some of the channels like last night. He didn't look amused. Then again, he didn't look amused last night as well. He didn't seem one for the media at all actually.

"And rubbish reception. This is a wonderful occupational area you have set for yourself, Doctor."

I could hear the sarcasm and felt my hairs bristle along with my pride, "Oh shush it you. Everyone is equal here and has the same meals and same ' rubbish' reception as you do and I don't hear them complaining. I fail to see how you are any different than them and don't you dare mention the fact that your posh excuse of a brother is part of the bloody government because that doesn't mean nearly as much here as it would mean elsewhere."

After that, I sat there in my chair, fuming. I didn't see Sherlock's expression, but I would assume it would be indifferent. No doubt he is depreciating me and assuming I'm immature and short-tempered, which I'm not. Well, never mind. That can be debatable. Very. Nonetheless, he was probably unaffected by my words. Tuned them out like a bad antenna on the telly.

He wasn't too fond of relationships from what I see. If that is the case, then why is he inviting me to speak with him? Clearly this might end badly. It's already starting off splendidly.

Sherlock ceased flipping channels, or so I took notice of when the station stayed on the same women for longer than 10 seconds.

"John."

I didn't look at him. I refused to dismiss what he said. He was mocking me. I was not going to just forgive him like that. I had too much pride to allow him the decency of being forgiven that quickly. If we were going to be soul mates, he might as well know my flaws since there are a lot and they all derive from the military ironic enough.

"John look at me."

Sod off you pompous git. You need to learn to apologize. Better yet, maybe I should buy you a bloody book! Then you can actually learn how to speak to people you should treat with respect and not with this... I don't know how to describe it. Disinterest? Aloofness? Some word that I probably would have to search the dictionary for a ridiculous amount of time to find? Probably.

Speaking to him was definitely not on that list. Yes, I suppose I would have brushed it aside if I didn't suspect us being future mates. If we weren't to be that I would have just laughed it off or rolled my eyes. Perhaps I'm being over-reactive. I've been told that by some people. It normally comes with emotional stress and not being able to cope with change, apparently.

Well, this definitely qualifies for that.

Clara said I should talk to him and get used to him since I think – rather unlikely might I add – that he is my mate. I should get used to him and kind of become accustomed to him. Right now, that was an impossibility and I don't think it will change. Not at this moment.

"John _please_," Sherlock whined and I gave a relenting sigh before looking at him.

His gaze was fully on me and as expected, expressionless besides the little signs of whining and complaining.

I could see the little tidbits that made him look like the Translucence part he had in him. It was clear and yet not. The sharp cheek bones, the blue eyes, pale skin, and skinny frame. Those were it, but it definitely made him appear one of them. If not for the fact the veins and organs couldn't be viewed and his hair was black, I would assume that he was a full-fledged translucent.

But he wasn't. Only part. A bigger part than he should be but a part nonetheless.

I still don't know where he got that attitude from though considering the Translucent are wonderful people to be around. Must be the Monochrome. Or his brother. Or both.

"Remember what I said last night?" he spoke and I nodded, still slightly irritated but curious. I wanted to know what he was interested in telling me. The reasons were in halves I must admit. Part was because I wanted to know if he noticed the spark and if I should avoid him. The other was because he was the most intriguing person, Monochrome or otherwise, I have ever met and I wanted to hear every word he had to say... as odd as that sounds.

He leaned back against the cot and sighed.

"I want to make a little... preposition. If you are willing to accept." I caught the tinge of 'if you want to I mean' underlining his words but made no move to mock him with them. It was clear he wasn't used to asking for permission and just kind of assumed most revolved around him and go with him whether they want to or not.

"A preposition upon what grounds?" I ask carefully. I didn't expect anything far fetched, despite the aura Sherlock seemed to give off.

"One concerning living arrangements," he responded smoothly and averted his gaze to the telly. Part of him seemed annoyed for asking the question – although this looked to be directed at himself – and part was lining of curious and worry. I was a little surprised to see all the emotion so quickly and openly.

"And why, by any means, would you want me to be taking this sudden change?" I was more than a tad surprised with the sudden question. I didn't expect it and I'm sure he didn't either. The part of me that was curious on the bond was starting to show again.

Sherlock hesitated at this question. He looked confused and irritated, but after a minute he responded quickly.

"Well, if I were to take in your occupation with the abilities of my own, then it would seem appropriate to combine them. Also, you are clearly not living on your own but wish to therefore-"

"Fibbing Sherlock," I grinned and he sighed. He wasn't used to getting caught. Certainly not by a dull Monochrome as myself.

After grumbling to himself for a bit, he looked at me and responded bluntly, "Fine. You interest me John Watson. "_Plain and simple_" as they say. The fact that I seem to hold this atrocious pull in your direction and have yet to discern it as something my heavy vessel of a body naturally has is beginning to wear on my mind. Therefore, the most reasonable path to go along is to study you more. I'm sure you can take account that I will not injure myself on pointless tasks because not only would that annoy yourself, but it would get very bland for myself since one soon runs out of ways to injure oneself without fatality consuming them."

He took a deep breath and met my eyes directly, "So, doctor Watson, will you or will you not accept my preposition? I don't have all day since I know after you leave the room I am to be discharged."

Silence thickened the atmosphere as our eyes interlocked but nothing broke it.

Sherlock was waiting for a response.

That I, of course, had not yet been ready to answer.

Because, like an idiot, I sat there dumbfounded and still analyzing his words. Mostly in the terms of my medical and science fields because I was in that mindset. He said he felt a pull, but he didn't get a spark. Was he dull to the soul mating process? Would he even know if his mate were to be right in front of him? He finds it annoying and absurd, which I couldn't agree more since I wasn't looking for a mate in him at the moment, and yet finds it intriguing. Like a geologist finding new territory to discover the terrain and such.

Wait, he said to move in with him. In the most roundabout ways, sure, but he did say it. To me. A man he just met. He says I'm interesting and that's why he wants me to become his flat mate, but what about myself? Unlike Sherlock who apparently has his partial Translucence genes affecting the soul mate system in his body, I am completely normal. I'm still of Monochrome standards and will feel every single bloody spark I get from just accidentally touching his pinky.

He was getting off easy.

But how was I supposed to say no? For one, he is my mate. Sadly. Another, he is a person that is appealing and the way his mind works is definitely something that attracts me to him. Not just by mating standards, but by personal curiosity. No was beginning to fly out the window and yes was settling in.

Maybe it was my background. I was used to danger and something out of the ordinary. I was attracted to adrenaline and the rush of it. For some reason, when my eyes met Sherlock, it seemed that he was nothing but all of these things combined. Something about how he wouldn't tell me how he got into the case of all those injuries or how his mind works. It was everything that I definitely wouldn't mind accompanying if given the chance.

That wasn't the only reason his offer was appealing.

Well, it would get me out of the flat of Clara and Harry. They are lovely but I really need to live on my own and away from their... relationship. Especially since I am already anxious about my possible future one. Maybe Sherlock and I can remain friends or comrades so-to-speak.

Because I didn't deserve a mate of any kind and I certainly didn't expect this one of all people. Who would? I was happy in my own little world of black, white, and grey and yet when I touched his skin ever so briefly I saw a spark of the color "blue" people mentioned. It was vibrant and contrast to my daily color schemes.

Finally, I realized I wanted to see more of these colors that I lack the sight of.

I let out a breath and Sherlock sat a little straighter. Was he nervous or was it just reflex?

"Fine."

He didn't grin like I probably would, but I could feel the little aura of feeling pleased surround himself. He probably predicted I would say that. Maybe. I'm still not sure which part of him holds Translucence and which holds Monochrome. Maybe he just knew I would say that. Maybe he knew I would think this.

Or maybe I'm just being completely absurd and he is just a git who becomes proud whenever things go his way.

"Perfect," he nodded to himself and then sighed. "Now, for your newly appointed flat mate, is there any way to get better meals in this sort of place?"

I laughed, "In your dreams."


	7. Sepia

_A/N: I will warn you! This has not been edited at all! I just got it done right now and I wanted to upload it since I have a goal of hopefully a chapter a day as long as I can manage! I would have had it done sooner but I wasn't fully awake until 2pm this afternoon and school gripped me with all the homework I had due. Hopefully this is decent? Probably not. I'm sorry for all errors because I know there is bound to be plenty. ^^"_

_Oh! Okay, this is the start of one of the major cases of Sherlock and John. One of them! I have a list. All written down and described to the tip with detail! Most of this is dialogue. I apologize for that if that is not your forte. ^^"_

_Well, read/fav/follow/review! Enjoy the chapter, guys. Ciao~_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock_

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 7: Sepia<strong>_

Moving out of Harry and Clara's place was surprisingly easier than I thought it would be. I expected my sister to appear all suspicious of this random bloke that appeared suddenly and asked me to move in but she instead waved her hand around, claiming that I needed to move out so I could find my mate. The way her mate acted was more subtle. Clara nodded though I could see her expression foretold that she knew why I was moving in with Sherlock.

Saying my farewells came easy and I tugged a suitcase behind me as I left the flat and towards the cab at the curb. The driver helped me place my case in the back while I got in and took out my phone to check the time. I should be earlier than expected. Sherlock said he might have found a place that would meet both of our standards – which made me wonder where he lived prior to this – but I would have to be present with him.

"_7 o clock sharp, John. Don't be late."_

Why would I be late? Not to mention, why did it matter if I was late? Did he have somewhere to go? As far as I knew, he didn't seem to have a job at all! On top of that, he was injured and healing. Performing some sort of extreme activity was definitely not advised by someone of my stature. How did he expect to actually pay for this flat which he got for a "good deal" if he didn't have the money to follow? I hope he didn't expect me to pay for both of us because I don't nearly get paid enough for that yet otherwise I would be in my own flat by this point.

When the driver got into the cab, I directed him to the address – 221 B Baker Street – and awaited the arrival I anticipated and was in confliction with.

What if I was wrong? About the both of us being soul mates? It wouldn't be the first time but I would rather it be the last if that was the case. I was almost certain that wasn't it but with how stoic and standoff-ish this man appeared to be, I wasn't so sure anymore. He didn't appear to feel it as intensely as I, but he did feel a pull.

Does that still count?

I shook my head, scolding myself. Get ahold of yourself Watson. You were a captain. Worrying over such petty issues is not your kind of scene. Just wait it out and proceed from there, like when you were in Afghanistan. If you succumb to the usual worries you will lose any sense of personality you ever had and when something does happen and you will hesitate. You know very well what hesitation brings.

It brings error or a disaster.

So, that being said, observing how this goes is the best course of action.

In the back of my mind I wondered how long we would really last.

"Sir," I blinked and met the gaze of the driver. He was motioning for the exit and I realized we were here. Nodding my thanks and paying the fare, I got out of the cab and retrieved my luggage before ascending to the doorstep.

My brow rose when I saw Sherlock was not here yet. He warned me to not be late and then he does the same? I swear that man… a hypocrite and a child. And apparently my mate. Lovely. Grand.

The sun went down slowly and I found my foot tapping with anxiety on the pavement.

I checked my watched. It has been almost 10 minutes. Where the hell was he?

Glancing up at the small light close to the doorstep, I sighed and looked down. My muscles tensed and my senses heightened when I saw a shadow, larger than my own, appear behind me. Almost like a switch my military side spoke up and began to prepare me for a reaction.

_Perhaps if I turn around and swiftly jab him in his abdomen he will be disoriented enough for me to grab his arm and twist it behind his back. Then I can just push him against the side of the building to pin his other arm. From there I can deal with him with more civility. _

Counting to three, I did just that. The man who was currently groaning in front of my, keeling slightly from the angle I was holding his arm at, was definitely a good head taller than me. He looked dirty, full of grime and whatever else he rolled in while in an alley. His hair was blackened though in the lighting I couldn't tell if it was from some sort of fluid or if it was his actual hair color. The Monochrome genes didn't make it any easier.

Now why he was here is the real question.

"May I inquire why you appeared behind me, mate?" I questioned lowly into the man's ear. I put order behind it and as much intimidation as I could muster from my past. It wasn't too hard considering I was already agitated from the late Sherlock Holmes.

"John…" the man groaned and I froze temporarily. I knew that voice. Very well in fact.

"Sherlock?" I spoke in confusion and annoyance as I backed off of him and allowed him to stretch. I was grateful I pinned his good arm behind his back and not the other or his fractured ulna would have definitely complained. Not to mention the sutures and stitches in his abdomen. Did I by chance pull them? Damn it. It was all his fault for not making his appearance known, but I still felt guilty for not observing him more. I could have prevented this somewhat awkward situation.

"Ah, yes. Your observational skills are superb, Watson," he groaned before glaring at me.

I shrugged. "I'm sorry. If you were going to appear to me like some of the bums from the Grime Zones in the city I would have looked for you but I was under the impression that you would appear differently. Actually, now that we are on that topic, why do you appear like you have rolled around in anything and everything in the local alley?"

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively, "Another time, John. For now, let's get our living arrangements in order. That is why you are here, correct?"

I watched him knock on the door. Not a second later it opened to reveal a small elderly woman. She was grinning but the second she spotted the state of Sherlock her hands went to her hips and her lips pursed in annoyance.

"Sherlock! What have you been doing at this hour? Is it one of your cases? I swear, young man, you have just gotten out of the hospital and now you are looking to be put back in!" She would have continued on had Sherlock not kissed her on the cheek and motioned towards me. He looked significantly more at ease now that the woman was here. Mother? No, no resemblances.

Another question to ask him.

"Mrs. Hudson, this is John Watson. He will be accompanying me in the flat upstairs. You should expect him to be living here from now on. John? This is Mrs. Hudson. She is the landlady at this flat." Mrs. Hudson looked over to me and judged me up and down before giving a happy little noise and pulling us both in. While Sherlock brushed past us and went upstairs, Mrs. Hudson kept me back.

"Are you living with him as a friend or…?" she left the question hanging and I patted her hand, already liking the woman.

"Just a flat mate." I don't know why I lied to her. She was incredibly nice and I don't see why I couldn't have told her the truth. Perhaps it was my uncertainty. I didn't want to give unsure promises.

Her face faltered but she still patted my cheek in affection and rushed me upstairs, "Alright, dear. Now go up and stop that boy from destroying my flat, will you? I will bring up some biscuits and tea soon enough." I nodded with a smile and quickly climbed up the steps.

The flat inside was a mess but that was what I expected.

All around were papers and books, beakers and flasks. It was a mess of knowledge and in the center was the messy black and white blur of Sherlock Holmes.

In the white light he appeared dirtier than before. Every part of him was covered in some sort of black smudge that was certainly dirt, grime, or even oil. He was in such a state that I was not sure whether those black splotches around his abdomen was blood from the snapped sutures or just more dirt from the alleys.

"You know," I spoke calmly though agitation was definitely there, "I told you not to perform any strenuous work of any sort until you were healed. What part of you did not get that?"

Sherlock met my eyes with a roll of his own, "Really, John. I suppose I cannot blame you since you don't know me well yet, but I rarely sit around and laze about simply because of an injury. Too boring."

"Boring?" I rose my brow and he nodded stiffly.

"Yes. Like watching paint dry or the sun rise and fall. It's all boring. Cases. Cases and crimes and the whatnot around those are what intrigue me and I'm not going to let a mere fracture and stitch stop me from breaking that tedious cycle of boredom."

Okay, great. So he is like a child. He gets bored a lot but it seems he takes it to a whole new level by find preposterous ways of curing that from cases.

Wait.

"So, are you a detective then? I never thought detectives would go through such ordeals for a client," I mused as I sat on the arm of one of the chairs.

"Oh no, I don't do that all the time. I only do cases that are interesting or those that the yard apparently don't have the brains to deduce on their own, which is plenty and all of them."

"Then, you are a special detective. The yard doesn't go to detectives so I would assume you are a…"

"Consulting detective, yes," he concluded quickly while heading to the kitchen. Grabbing a wash rag, he began to run the sink and clean up his face and hands. After a few minutes his face was its usual white-gray hue that came with paleness and no cuts or injuries was visible.

Now to check the stitches.

"Well, while you tell me about all this consulting detective nonsense, why don't you sit on the sofa so I can make sure you didn't pull something extremely idiotic?" A scoff came out of the detective's mouth but he complied with a few grumbles.

I retrieved my medical kit from my luggage and got on my knees in front of Sherlock while he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside. His skin was clean though I could clearly see a good stream of black protruding from one of the wounds where I stitched. I tsked at the man in front of me but made no remark. I was tempted to rant about how when I said he shouldn't do something it is for his own benefits, but I knew he wouldn't listen. That much I was sure of.

"So, consulting detective?" I prompted while biting the thread and yanking so I could stitch the broken skin.

"Ah, yes. I am the world's only consulting detective. When the police are at their wits end, or always as I have come to know, they come to me."

"And you use your deductive skills to figure the case out, I assume?" I questioned while slowly threading the needle in and out of the puckered skin.

"Quite."

He left it like that and I sighed, "Care to explain what sort of case involved you getting into this sort of mess?" I finished one of the stitches and moved to the other while checking the ulna that was previously fractured. A few sparks here and there gathered on my fingertips but I moved my hands quickly so it didn't last.

"The Sepia Order."

I met his gaze with one of confusion, "The Sepia Order? I have never heard of that group in particular. Not even by the government."

Sherlock laughed humorlessly, "That's because the government is nothing but a few men who have more power than most. Anyhow, they don't have a single clue about this group. I have only recently discovered them from the recent murder spree. The ones consisting of men in the Grime Zones?" I nodded, finished with his repairs. "They are an order that prey on the Discolored and the Sombre to scientifically bring back color. It seems those who have been subjected to this are often found completely disfigured with aspects such as orange-yellow scleras, yellow finger nails, and most of their nourishment has been depleted to skin and bones. Few I have noticed have been made blind when those who knew them before have said they had perfect vision."

"That still doesn't explain why you appeared as if you ran a kilometer to get here and out of there," I reminded.

"I found out where they were located. It's a distinct area along the Barren Zones of London. I was there previously but I was found out from some sort of noise trap they had set and I got back here. I planned to be here sooner and in better condition but cases can be rather unpredictable sometimes."

Pursing my lips, I sighed, "So what do you plan to do now? Go back?"

"Precisely."

I looked him up and down before walking over to my luggage and pulling out my old Army pistol, all the rounds still loaded.

"Fine. But I will be coming with you."

He smiled, plucking the shirt from before back on and buttoning it up, "That was what I wanted to here, John. I'm glad to hear we are on the same page."

Wrapping a scarf around his neck and buttoning his Belstaff coat, he motioned me to follow him as we ran down the stairs. Mrs. Hudson was at the bottom with a tray of biscuits and two cups of tea. I gave her an apologetic expression but she brushed it off and looked disapprovingly at Sherlock.

"Young man, you better not get this good friend of yours into trouble! He seems nice and I don't want to hear you got him scratched and bruises to prove a point." But she smiled anyways. I think she knew that Sherlock wouldn't do that, however, I wasn't so sure myself. I barely knew this man.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Hudson. You can leave to condiments on the table in the flat."

When we got out of the door, Sherlock was already running through an alley. I had no trouble keeping up but seeing him altogether was a different story.

"Just so you know, I'm not following you so I can see this case of yours! I'm just worried about you stressing your wounds!"

I could feel the smirk in the detective's response, "Then why can I tell that your pulse has heightened and adrenaline is rushing through your veins? I suppose you could say it is running, but I believe you are actually enjoying this rush, are you not doctor?"

Glaring at his back, I sighed in defeat (very hard to do while running) and smiled, "Maybe. Maybe you are right, but I will not give you the liberty of knowing so!"

"Oh, but I think you already have."


	8. Hue

_A/N: I found this amusing towards the end of this chapter but it seems in this chapter and in chapter 21 of my other fanfic I have John being knocked unconscious. Not intentionally, might I say, but I still find it a little interesting. I don't know, I really enjoy having John getting hurt which is contradictory to me wanting to hug him in situations such as Reichenbach. _

_Hm... Well, whatever the case may be, here is the chapter! I passed out early yesterday so I couldn't post it then, but I'm posting it now and I will strive to get the other chapter out today when I finish it._

_With that said, read/follow/fav/review. Enjoy the chapter!_

_Ciao~_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock_

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 8: Hue<strong>_

"Is this it then?" I whispered beside Sherlock, peering around a few crates at a building that was languidly guarded. The structure itself was a warehouse with a few little compartments attached to it. I couldn't see any light within the heavily tinted windows but didn't attempt to get any closer than I was. No doubt I would be spotted by even those idle protectors. Every so often a man or women would pass by the entrance of the enigmatic building with a bored expression.

Scattered around the entrance were multiple piles of crates, one of which Sherlock and I were currently hiding behind. Everything was eerily quiet without any breeze to change it. It was like an atmosphere of waiting.

Curiosity was burning in my veins and adrenaline was following neck in neck. We must have been a quarter of a mile from the building but my feet were itching to get closer. I wanted to see what this secret society was of and if I should attempt to exploit it. I couldn't deny the rush that came with it was exhilarating.

Sherlock, on the other hand, was completely calm beside me. He was looking everywhere but the warehouse, specifically at the shrubs and trees dotting the walls. I couldn't see what he was aiming with those sort of aspects, but he was an odd one. No doubt he had some plan in his head that was extremely dangerous, stupid, and genius.

"Sherlock!" I hissed and he jerked out of his reverie, glancing at me.

"Hm? Oh, yes. This is it. I didn't think you would need clarification. You're pulse and heart beat certainly didn't need one." He smirked at me and I rolled my eyes.

"Okay, Mr. Smart Alec, so while we are here awaiting for an opportunity, might I ask what The Sepia Order does?" That was the one piece of information he never gave me and couldn't piece myself no matter how much I stressed my brain. I have wondered if it is because he didn't know it or if he was keeping information out. Either way, the question seemed to have left him speechless and reserved. I began to have my doubts when he responded.

"That is what I am here to find out," he confirmed after a moment of awkward silence. "Like I said before, I have been monitoring them since the string of murders, but I have yet to distinguish why they are here and what their objective is."

I was about to open my mouth again to ask another question when he shook his head.

"We can't sit here asking questions about what we don't know. It's pointless and it will waste any valuable time we have to figure it out ourselves. We have to start with action and that is where you will come in specifically."

"Me?" I rose my brow at him, "When did I happen to get pulled into your plan? As far as I am concerned, I never expressed much need before to hint at my coming with you?"

Sherlock looked and me and he mirrored me, "If we are to be flat mates you should know the worst of me, I suppose. For one, I tend to generate multiple scenarios to one case. Therefore when you said you would come with me that fulfilled one them and the plan can go accordingly without pause. It limits the amount of frays and miscalculations in a case."

"_So he is like a computer so to speak, a machine even," _I thought amused, "_Or he is too smart for his own good. More than likely the latter."_

Sherlock took a deep breath, sparing a sidelong glimpse at the traversing guards.

"But that is beside the point. I need you to go up to the guards and knock them unconscious. There are only two and they seem rather inattentive."

"Are you sure there are only two?" I received a look that could have been acidic and I chuckled, "Okay got it. Don't get all angry now."

Crouching along the edge of the shadow the crates made, I awaited the guard to turn before quickly moving behind the next pile of crates, this one a few meters from one of the guards. Now that I was this close I could clearly see both guards. One was a female of average height and she seemed to be patrolling the extensions more than the building, in which was being secured by a male about Sherlock's height.

The male would probably be the easiest to go after. The female, although seemingly weak, had something off about her. Maybe it was her spacey expression or the fact her eyes weren't necessarily seeing anything. It was like she was blind but why would someone place a blind woman to guard an important location?

Peering over at her a moment longer, I waited for her to cross one of the hanging lamps. When I could see her clearly I was tempted to cringe, but steeled against it.

Her scleras were yellow but red strings of red blood cells streamed in rivers from the pupil to the outer boundaries of the eye. It was a more severe version of bloodshot eyes. Her mouth seemed to be stitched shut though I couldn't fathom why. Nails were yellow, bitten, or gone and she had splotches of hair on her scalp.

It was like some twisted experiment gone wrong. Then again, wasn't that what Sherlock assumed The Sepia Order did?

"_Reminds me of old times in Afghanistan, specifically the Faded Resistance,"_ I thought solemnly, thankful when the woman turned around to walk the other direction. _"But at least they didn't leave their experiments in this cursed torture."_

Shaking my head, I took a shaky breath, closed my eyes, and opened them. Pushing my worries and concerns to the back of my head, I attempted to shadow them so the more ideal qualities could come through, particularly stealth and agility. Slowly my mind became clearer and my past remained as so.

By this time she was gone, back in the shadows to the area she guarded. The other male also had his back turned. This was my chance.

"_It shouldn't take too much to knock out this bloke. Perhaps the usual military basics? No, probably not. Something quieter where it won't attract the woman. Then strangulation would have to work." _

I grimaced at the method. I know several methods to knock someone out but strangulation is normally a fool's proof way of obtaining it. It may be a tad difficult since he is taller than me. No doubt I will get some bruising and scrapes from his hands trying to claw at me.

A sigh escaped my lips. All for this detective. Damn it.

No time to regret it now.

Crouching, I crept to the shadow the warehouse provided and slowly made my way to the man. When he stood still, I held my breath and counted to three before jumping behind him. Swinging my arm around his neck, I stuck his head in the crook of my elbow and wrapped my other hand around his mouth and nose to restrict nose and breathing. As we scuffled, he managed to kick me in the knee and I winced before fixing my hold.

Multiple scratches and more than enough bruises later he was unconscious. Dragging his body, I leaned him against the side of the warehouse in the shadows.

Testing my knee, I flinched. He had definitely done some damage to it. I was going to have to check it out after this. Right now wasn't the time to worry about my injuries. Leaning my weight on my other leg, I leaned against the building and prepared to turn around the corner.

Now for the female.

When I turned around, however, I came face to face with her. She must have been two or three meters away from my form. When had she heard me? Sure there was noise but it was so minimal that she shouldn't have been able to hear it.

Her eyes bore into my own with a dead expression while her mouth attempted to speak through her stitched lips. Something resembling a whisper left her lips but I couldn't tell words from air. It all sounded the same and she couldn't make it any more pronounced or louder.

When she looked at me, she saw I didn't understand and released a small sigh through her laced lips. She had given up conversing and brought out a Swiss army knife instead.

"_Wonderful_," I thought sarcastically while slowly bringing my fists out in front of me. I was at a disadvantage. Hopefully she wasn't too good with the blade. Then again, I highly doubt it judging by the way she was holding it. Perhaps if I side step her first blow I can smack her wrist so she can drop it and go from there with-

Suddenly, the woman's eyes went wide. I watched her carefully, unsure on what just happened. Finally her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she fell to the floor, Sherlock behind her with a wooden board in his hands.

"You did a mediocre job, John, but perhaps next time you should take note that since she is blind, as I am sure you noticed, her other senses will be significantly heightened. Taking out the female would have been the best choice of the two." Huffing at his criticism, I took the board from his hands and placed it against the warehouse as well.

"Yeah? I didn't see you trying to knock both of them out," I countered.

Sherlock shrugged, "I had more important matters to attend to. That being our entrance into this supposedly vacant building." His eyes fell on the tree once more and I followed his gaze to see one of the branches leading to a window. The glass had shattered long ago leaving a few jagged edges here and there and a perfect entrance to boot.

"Fine. I'll accept it this time, Sherlock. Only this time since you figured out a way to get us in. Now, what do we do from here?"

I could see the faint traces of a grin on the detective's face, "I was under the influence that you didn't wish to follow me in this disposition. What has changed your mind, doctor?"

I imitated his grin with more vigor, "Maybe I have found something interesting about your line of work. Maybe. Don't get your hopes up."

"Oh, of course not." Sherlock walked up to the tree and I trailed after. When we were at the trunk, I noticed that it wasn't too tall. I was certain that even I could have climbed it if necessary.

"You will stay here."

"I will what?" I breathed, disbelief in my eyes. Did he just say I was to stay here? No. Absolutely not. Not only was Sherlock injured, but he was a danger magnet. I didn't know this man long, but I knew enough to not trust him on his own. Sherlock seemed to follow my train of thought with a frown.

"I will be fine. I just need you to stay out here for now. If we both went in at the same time no doubt anyone in there would hear us. Also, the kick you sustained from that young man seems to be affecting your steps and one step is heavier from the other. Therefore, it is only logical that I go in. I will motion for you if I need you."

I couldn't believe it. "So I am supposed to stay out here?"

Sherlock was already climbing up the tree, "Didn't I make that clear? Oh, and I assumed you brought your pistol with you, correct?"

I nodded, wondering in my mind how he knew about it.

"If I motion for you, then I am in immediate need of your service. Be sure to have your pistol ready because I am sure we will need it." I looked down and shook my head, agitation inkling in slowly. After a second I glanced back up and saw Sherlock making his way across the branch. He was elegant and each step was never faulty.

"Why do I have this feeling that you would never do such a thing, Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned to me and grinned, "I said flat mates should know the worst of each other, did I not?" With that he hopped into the window and silence fell like a thick curtain.

Leaning against the tree the detective was climbing not too long ago, I released a sigh I never realized I had been holding.

"_Look what you have gotten yourself into, John," _My morality chastised me, "_You are a doctor. A respected citizen and now, for the man who you think is your mate, you are rummaging the streets for criminals!"_

Yeah. Just for Sherlock Holmes.

That's a lie. Maybe it was my past beckoning the adrenaline antics or perhaps it was that this was definitely unorthodox to my everyday life; no matter the reason, I found this part of Sherlock's profession strangely thrilling and addicting. Damn this man to find something that would attract me so.

"_Well, he __**is**__ your mate."_

He might. He might be my mate.

I was still trying to understand that and I was finding it difficult without any help from someone of Iridescence value. Not to mention I haven't had the time to completely come to terms with it, this mating.

My mind was in a debate. Part of my wished for a mating since I have spent quite a bit looking for mine. It wanted to see color and all that nonsense the Iridescence seem to gloat about.

But at the same time, I didn't want him to be my mate. I didn't want that phrase to be hanging above every reason that I enjoyed this man's company, prat or not. He was definitely someone that I probably needed in my life, someone to define what I missed in my previous occupation, but for every reason I would give why, it would be countered with soul mating.

Which was absolutely absurd.

A shuffle in the distance brought me out of my contemplation with tense muscles and itching fingers. My gun felt heavier than lead in the back of my pockets. The atmosphere thickened with the sudden change in mood.

A few more noises followed and I found my eyes averting to every shadow around this tree. Taking a step back, I sunk into to midnight shade of the tree and tried to make as little noise as I could.

Gradually, the noises came to a stop. I knew somebody was there. Perhaps multiple people considering the varied direction I heard the shuffles in. They were waiting. Waiting for me to make my move; to make a mistake.

I was about to begin climbing up the tree to get a better view when a twig snapped behind me.

Pulling a one-eighty, I came face to face with a brute. I didn't have a chance to make a sound before something came down on my head. Everything went in circles before fading to black.


	9. Negative

_A/N: I am sorry for the late updates. I even promised 2 chapters two days ago and I still didn't get them done. I broke a promise and I apologize. I had PSATs on Wednesday and I passed out early Tuesday. Even today my lids are threatening to crash and never open again. _

_I will admit that this chapter may be a tad confusing to some. I'll explain a bit more in an end note but for now read/fav/follow/review! Enjoy the chapter. :)_

_EDIT: To LibraryCat9: I apologize for the confusion in this little bit. I admit that I did write that rather poorly. I hoped I fixed the colour issue I wrote earlier. Again, I am sorry for that. Also, thank you for bringing it to my attention as well as the "bounded" to "bound". Stupid errors. _

_Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock_

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><p><strong><em>Chapter 9: Negative<em>**

A very distinct amount of pain on my wrists and ankles was the first to hit me when I awoke. It was like that of having pulled a muscle in your arm except perhaps more potent. Either way, it was definitely uncomfortable and more than a little seething of the skin.

The second aspect that came to my attention was the concussion I was probably suffering from. The big bloke probably plunged that object – whatever it was – on my head rather firmly to knock me out so completely. I would have been surprised if I _hadn't _woken up with a grieving headache pulsing with my heart beat. The small tributary falling down the side of my head confirmed even more so. I was injured, probably more than a little disorderly in my senses, and definitely restricted onto some sort of object.

Quietly in the background, I could sense the pain in my knee with heady competence. I thought I would be left with a few bruises from the attack, but I might have sustained greater wounds than suspected. It's going to be absolutely lovely explaining this to Mary tomorrow morning.

If I even bother going to work. At this point, I wasn't certain what my situation was and if there even was an _certitude _that I would leave these bonds intact and breathing.

Multiple emotions flitted through my mind like buzzing bees, each more aggravating than the last. I was annoyed because I was stronger than this and still managed to get caught and by a stealth attack at that. Disbelief trickled in afterwards. I expected Sherlock to be here with me but I haven't heard him and I haven't opened my eyes yet to see if he was unconscious. That was a little miffing. Perhaps Sherlock managed to lie low and not get caught? For me, that seemed rather slim, but maybe, just maybe, he did have some good points in him.

He may possibly be more than a juvenile, egotistical detective who seems to always know more information than he probably should.

_Maybe._

That being said, I still haven't opened my eyes to see if he was here or not. I shouldn't praise the man for his skills if I don't know for sure if he has them.

The digression seeped away quickly, leaving me to ponder the last facet of my apparent detainee status.

Curiosity laced thickly with a sheen of apprehension fell like a curtain of foreboding consequences. What will happen to me now that I am clearly a hostage? Is there any way I can manipulate my situation for my beneficial usage? Those sort of questions poured into my head immediately with trepidation only enhancing the urgency. Remaining calm was easy on the outside, but inwardly I was beginning to worry.

Not just for myself, but for Sherlock. He was a magnet, a lure, which all the fish representing danger and disaster loved to fall for. What if he was in a worse situation than I was in?

Too many ifs and not enough certainties were beginning to cloud my mind and I pushed them aside with some difficulty. Now was not the time to react like a passive citizen. Now was the time to let my soldier side present itself to assess the situation before me.

That wasn't very difficult.

"_Primarily, I should test my limitations. What I can and cannot move with no leeway about it," _I prioritized.

I moved a little, stretching my bones and muscles, but my movement was constrained. Something around my waist and torso was also securing me and keeping me from doing any movement. So I was currently bound, but how strong were those bonds? If they were rope perhaps I could try and fiddle with them.

"_If only I was that lucky," _I thought sourly. _"Look at the mess you are in. Certainly luck is not on your side and I doubt it will ever be."_ Nonetheless, I still went ahead with hopeful, halfhearted thinking.

Testing my bonds, I shook my wrists a little and heard the clinking of chains. Metal. _Lovely._ I twisted my wrists slowly and with minuscule precision but another bond – this one like rubber tubes – stopped me from performing anything. Letting my wrists relax, I gritted as the sensitive skin had the metal within contact once more. They rubbed harshly at my wrists and when I jerked a little at the sudden jab I realized my ankles were in much the same predicament.

Oh yes, luck was definitely not on my side.

"_Wonderful. Just wonderful. Look what you got yourself in John. This is what you get for chasing childish, over-eccentric detectives in the middle of the night."_

Yes. Over-eccentric and entirely reckless detectives that I will gladly haunt if I don't get out of here alive as I planned.

My eyes moved under my lids, wanting to see.

In all this time, I hadn't opened my eyes. I was preparing mentally for the worst for I have seen what The Sepia Order does and I wasn't sure if the same would occur to me. Would I gain the "yellow"scleras that they all have in common? I didn't even know what "yellow" was in my gray spectrum. For all I knew, the gray for someones "blue" may be the actual "yellow". I'm completely vulnerable and it irritated me beyond belief. Would I become mentally damaged? Too many dependents and I felt anxiety course through my veins, sidling with the adrenaline.

"I know you are awake," the voice was clearly American. I quirked my lips a little in disgust at the tone. It was fascinated and too gleeful for one looking at a prisoner. When I opened my eyes, I was met with dark gray ones framed by unruly black hair and an almost mid-gray complexion like that of an overseas tan. His smile was almost maniacal and his clothing was even more absurd. Ripped trousers douses with various shades of black white and gray, shirt untucked on one side and uniform on the other, tie not even in a knot of any sort: he was a mess thorough and thorough.

"You know, you have some brains to actually be able to find this place. Very intelligent indeed. You also must have some sense of strength and stealth since you knocked out both of my experiments quickly and without alarm." He sighed this time, apparently perplexed. "And I worked on them so hard. Oh well, the next batch would surely be better."

He spoke of them like they were experiments on petri dishes and not people with lives and souls to match.

"The next batch?" I probed as I observed the spacious warehouse room.

In every corner were beds, except the mattresses had been removed and only the stiff structure was behind it. I assumed that that was what I was currently attached to.

Behind the crazed man was a row of chemical equipment, each one more complex than the previous machine next to it. Some held flasks that were bubbling with a liquid that kept changing hues of grey and black. Some of them appeared to be straining the previous liquid. They were all for some purpose that I couldn't decipher.

"The next batch of my Sepians of course!" The man cried loudly. He had this grin that screamed he had spent too long on one project that was fruitless. A long experiment with many fiascos and disappointments to show the effort. At least, that is what I assumed. It appeared to be the case. Too many failures and he seemed like he had snapped or was pretty close to it.

"What about the next batch?" I asked further, hoping for him to respond.

He did without hesitation, "Oh, I always need a strong one to lead the others and you, my kind sir, have proved to be an incomparable specimen! You will do nicely if I do say so myself." He snickered to himself and I felt some fear settle in. Just a little. Not enough to make it noticeable but it was definitely there.

"And if I don't comply?" I countered. Damn it. I couldn't have kept my mouth shut. Of course not. That wasn't me.

I wasn't one to follow readily. I was a leader at one point so following isn't my best suit. I engage the enemy, not succumb to their tortures like a begging fool. That was pointless and weak, all of the aspects I despised in whatever mission I portrayed whether rescue or guard.

That being said, I didn't know exactly how to lead myself out of here which made all my previous statements completely irrelevant. I didn't know how to escape. These chains were definitely sturdy and I can't summon some miraculous power to break them. Even if I did escape, the injuries I have would definitely leave me in worst for wear. Overall, I couldn't deliberate a plan that would be successful.

"_Sherlock probably would,_" I added internally, _"Then again, I have no clue where he is. He certainly isn't here with me. Hopefully he didn't go get himself caught. Knowing his luck-" _I paused my thoughts when I saw a flitting shadow behind the machines. Definitely humanoid or it looked like it. Narrowing my eyes, I glared at the spot in hopes to catch a glimpse of the individual.

For once, it seemed luck spared a glance in my direction. The person behind it popped up for a moment and I immediately recognized it.

I would have glowered him down if the extremist hadn't spoken up.

"Well, you don't have to comply. I'm going to do so with or without your consent, but if you prove to be difficult I do have those wonderful wires that are attached to you."

I strained my neck and saw multiple cords wrapped around my ankles and wrists along with a single wire attached to my heart and one to my neck. They seemed to be attached to some metal needle or some sort of conducting wire that was under my skin. Electrocution. Today is just getting better and better.

I glared at him as he smiled innocently, "Yes, well, I do have plenty of electricity in this place. Using some to… well, put you in a soporific state wouldn't be too damaging to my tests. But enough talk, let me give you a little taste of what I _could_ do if you prove to annoy me." With that, he grabbed a board beside him that was decorated with switches and two lights, the darker looking one on. I assumed it was the off button. That meant the other was the…

Flicking his fingers, he flipped the switch and almost instantaneously a vivid shock coursed through me, burning through my clothing to my skin and along my nerves. A million little shocks bit through me like having pirahnas chomping at you from the extremities to the center. It was painful but not like taking a bullet to the shoulder – as I have done – or falling into a trench on accident. This was different and even worse. I clenched my teeth hard to avoid screaming but it wasn't easy when it felt like I had been attached to a battery on high voltage.

When I was on the verge of screaming, the electricity stopped. The man had flipped the switch but I could still feel every single tingle and vibration still reverberating across my skin. Little catalysts waltzed along my hands and feet, gradually and slowly crawling up to my knees and elbows. It was slow and draining. My fingertips were numb and I wasn't so sure if I could walk at the moment even if I wanted to.

"Those were only two switches," he added with a grin, "Now imagine if I flipped the switch on your heart. I'm giving you .01 amps. That's enough to kill a person. Even a tough guy like you!" I knew that. I've seen that. He didn't have to tell me twice.

Or shock me in this case.

Either way, retorting against him was definitely not the way to buy time in this case. I would have to appeal to him, keel to him so-to-speak. I wasn't too thrilled at all, but Sherlock needed time and I would give him that.

"Why… why are you doing this?" I huffed in between breathing. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sherlock peek his head up once more to nod at me. If I could, I would have flipped up a few non-descriptive fingers in his direction but I was bounded. Not to mention that would also reveal his location. I still couldn't stop the feeling of annoyance from flushing my mind. He was giving me his bloody approval! That git. Instead of nodding in my direction he should be helping me out of here!

I took a deep breath. Calm down Watson. He's probably got some genius plan to do just that. Certainly he isn't wasting time trying to figure out whatever chemical the man is brewing or even the purpose. Clearly he must be putting his and your safety first.

Obviously.

I chuckled softly, too low for the American to notice. Yeah, I highly doubt it. Sherlock didn't appear the type to actually put somebody's wellbeing before the case, including his own judging from our introductory meeting.

So I would have to wait for him to be ready. Until then, preventing any more damaging shocks are to be my top priority. Along with any other damage or alterations this mad man has set to make his "perfect soldier". I was to act the "Damsel in Distress".

I'm going to end up killing him myself when we get out of this.

"Why…" I tried again for the man clearly didn't hear me the first time, "Are you doing this?" I attempted to convey my voice over to him but all I got was a distant look.

"Hm?" The man questioned. He didn't hear my question.

Third times a charm.

"Why are you doing this?" I repeated, my voice a little stronger now. The small tremors that licked my skin weren't as painful as before.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" His voice became soft. His entire form changed, his laughter now low and sinister, "I'm trying to do you all a favor. I'm trying to restore color! I'm trying to restore _balance_."

"Balance?" I encouraged. Anything to keep this man talking.

"Freedom from mating! Freedom from a predetermined fate! Freedom. Doesn't that word dance across your tongue with a good flavor? It should for _that _is what we are meant to have as human beings. As people of this world!"

I watched the man wearily. All the while, I vaguely noticed Sherlock off to the side seemingly pulling a few plugs here and there while following others. The man hadn't noticed. He was too into his own bravado to care.

Sherlock gave me a look to be quiet and I rolled my eyes. I hope he knows what he is doing.

Let me rephrase that: He better know what he is doing for he is the only hope I have for possibly getting out of these chains and wires.

"May I ask what amuses you so?" The voice beckoned me once more and I glanced at him, the fear from before gone and replaced with only an inkling of concern for Sherlock.

"Nothing at all. I just find it intriguing that you haven't explained how you plan to restore color. You have stated what you _want_, not what you _have_."

The man paused before mumbling something, the words gradually getting louder, "What I have? What do I have? I have serum, the _renouer teinte. _It will restore color in the brightness it was!"

"_More like a load of rubbish,"_ I wanted to mutter but bit my tongue hard. Experimentally looking in Sherlock's direction, I quirked my brow but he shook his head.

Sherlock motioned for me to continue asking questions as he followed a combination of cords to the back of the warehouse. I decided to question his motives later when I wasn't in danger. Hopefully soon.

"Any results?"

His eyes brightened, "Finally! A specimen taking interest in what their future will be! Yes, oh yes, we have had lots of progress. We have had people regain their yellows and reds but it seems to only be the sepia colors," he paused looking at me with a knowing expression, "Oh, but you don't know what those colors are, do you? You are your monochrome sight. Ah, but don't worry. You will soon. We also seem to have some physical alterations but nothing surgery can fix nowadays."

I abhorred the way he said that. He made it sound like being a Monochrome was completely pitiful even though I had no doubt he was one himself. How did he know what those colors were? "Yellow"? "Red"? Unless he did those... experiments onto himself, I fail to see how he knows more of the limited spectrum than I do.

But something more caught my attention.

I frowned, "We?"

The man nodded vigorously, "Yes! _We_. J.M is what he calls himself! He never shows himself it seems, but that is beside the point. He provides me funds. He is interested in my work. That's all I need to continue."

_J.M? An abbreviation no doubt. This American speaks of him fondly, like J.M. is his master, his leader._

"In fact, he would probably be interested profoundly in how _you_ will react to the tests since you are so strong, mentally and physically! I can just see it now!" The man grabbed a syringe and slithered towards me, his eyes now brightly examining me like a new toy. "Color will splash lively into your vision and you will thank me. You will! You'll see!" He snickered and I cringed against the metal bed frame.

"Ah, I fear that that is where you have to stop, doctor."

With a loud buzz, the lights went out. The moonlight that poured in through the windows was the only source of lighting.

The American scientist nearly screeched, "What have you done?! It has taken me a month to prepare that serum! A month!"

"And it seems you will have to wait yet another. Now, Doctor Watson, how would you clarify this man? In your doctorate terms if you will? Genius? Creative?"

"Mad," I deadpanned as I waited for my eyes to adjust.

"Oh, do you truly think so? I think his methods are rather innovative."

"Of course you would," I sighed, rolling my eyes, "Nonetheless, can you pause your admiration to help me? As strong as you perceive me to be, I doubt I have the miraculous strength to suddenly rip these chains apart."

"All in due time, John."

After Sherlock said this, I suddenly realized the doctor that was previously moaning about preparations was now completely silent. Too silent.

"Sherlock," I called out.

"I know," he responded with no emotion. Almost like a one-eighty, his tone changed to one a twinge full of concern, "Doctor? I wouldn't do that if I were you. You don't know what that could do."

By this time my eyes adjusted and I peered around, trying to find Sherlock and the doctor. I spotted them in the moonlight, the doctor in the direct light (when had he moved?). A reflection caught my gaze and I realized he had the syringe in his hands, seemingly prepared to stick it in himself.

"You took away my only experiment. This is the last of the readily created serum. I can't use it on the specimen because he would turn on me. I don't want to risk such valuable research. No. No, using it on me would be best. This would definitely be best." With that he jabbed the syringe in his heart and plunged the serum.

Everything stilled. The wind was nonexistent. My breaths seemed all but vacant. I couldn't even see Sherlock breathing.

The next murmurs were quiet but they held a distinct amount of madness in its being.

"Color… _color_…"

"Sherlock," I called again, quieter.

"Hush, John," the detective replied, inching towards me.

I wanted to tell him to hurry up, to either knock the man out or help me, but I knew the dire situation we were in. It wasn't something that could be easily dismissed.

The man in the moonlight stood straight. His posture was fixed. He was perfectly still.

Something was different. The aura around him. Iridescence had a white and the Discoloured had a black. This man's aura malformed constantly. It never remained the same. Black to white to grey and back. Always changing. Always some other shade of white and black. I had a feeling that if I could see color it would be that of a "rainbow" or all of the colors.

I felt something grip my wrist and a spark followed. Flinching automatically, I jerked my wrist from his grasps before relaxing, allowing him to take the chains I assumed he was trying to break. Sherlock paused for a moment, though (hesitance?) I tried to look at him but he was in my blind spot. All I could see was the brief flickers of a silhouette or the spark of our hands brushing every so often.

The mad man was humming in the distance as Sherlock fiddled with the confinements.

A second later I heard the chains snap and one of my wrists were free. A minute more and I was free from all my bonds. I plucked a few stray wires off of me and took a step.

Ah, tried to. I tried to take a step.

My knees buckled immediately. I probably would have landed on my face had Sherlock not caught me, throwing my arm over his neck. Thanking him silently, I struggled to balance my weight on the aching, shocked ankles and injured knee.

"Careful, John. We wouldn't want to have the brute come over here, now would we?"

I nodded, keeping my lips in a thin line to not make the pain I was in known. That wouldn't help our situation. I didn't even know if the American wanted to kill us or experiment on us.

"_Color!_" The man cried once more, dancing around a little, "Oh, this is glorious!"

"Sherlock," I warned, "Surely we cannot leave him here?"

Sherlock pursed his lips before sighing, "I suppose not. But I can't have you here either since you are certainly injured and might have a few organs and nerves shocked from the previous spark. It would end up ruining any plan I make with taking your dependence into the equation. If only you had kept you tongue still, you probably would have avoided the shock."

"_Which one?" _I thought with a roll of my eyes, "_The mating one or the electricity? Both were rather painful so I can't tell the difference in what you mean."_

But I said nothing.

"Maybe we should-" I started but was cut off swiftly with the outcry of the entranced man.

"Oh! Boys, perhaps you should stop bickering over my debacle. I don't think I'm going to linger and test on you now so you can leave if you want. I could kill you, but who knows how long these brilliant hues will last! You have places to be, I know I have places to be! J.M. will certainly be pleased with this!" The man swung around one of the beams holding the warehouse up before hopping up a little ledge to the open window Sherlock came through earlier.

"I suppose it is thanks to you that my success was finally achieved! So for that, you will definitely not die. That being said, you won't die from _my_ hands. I do have a few stray failed Sepians but that is for you to discover. They might have all left by this point. Who knows?" With a giggle, he hopped down and was gone. I cursed under my breath while Sherlock stared after him thoughtfully.

"J.M." He murmured pensively. "He appears to be on everyone's lips. Even the deceased."

"Excuse me?" I turned to him and he shook his head.

"Another time, John. For now, we should get out of here and preferably back to the flat." It was almost a robotic response. Like he was trying to avoid the topic. I didn't try to breach it now. That would involve energy that was beginning to wane.

No, I'll wait until I am stronger and then I'll interrogate him. I'm sure he realizes how many bloody questions he owes me answers to. Too many.

Sherlock turned and led us into the shadows. I was confused where he was leading us until he reached out and gripped something. A moment later a door opened and light from the outside shown in like a sudden reflection. I blinked it away and let Sherlock guide me.

Sparks and shivers danced across my skin and nerves. My heart and brain was crying out that my mate was right here next to me. They were telling me that I was only postponing this. It was painful mentally and physically. I was suffering alone.

"John?" I peered up but Sherlock was looking around, his head facing the direction we came from. I could see from the faint lighting that his jaw was tense as well as his muscles. From what I observed, that was one of the main tell-tale signs that he was thinking.

"Yes?" I huffed.

He paused. "Nothing. Forget I ever said anything."

I laughed though it was strained. "Nothing never pertains to you from what I have come to understand Sherlock. Besides, why would I forget something you said when it is more than likely important?" Sherlock never replied and the adrenaline was ebbing off so I didn't feel like bickering.

On the way back to the flat I considered what that man said. It was a mixture of confusion, exhaustion, and utter disbelief, but I still attempted to remember. I knew that once morning came I would never believe I had gone through this. I would never believe that Sherlock does this for a living nonetheless.

J.M. A name but for who does it belong to?

And why does it seem like that is a name I should be wary of? Even more than the color-crazed scientist?

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><p><em>AN: I'll explain a few things here that may not have been clarified because my brain is scattered and runs on tangents a lot._

_The Sepia Order - They want to restore color by means of scientific experimentation. Many of their tests have, however, been failures resulting in the subjects to have yellow scleras, yellowed nails, multiple mental or sensual issues, and, if they still have their sight, a sepia hue instead of monochrome. _

_The American Scientist - He does show up later. No, he's not some random character that is slightly on the crazy side. His name isn't mentioned here for good reason. You'll see why later._

_J.M. - Don't need to clarify that do I? :)_

_The other Sepians mentioned - If you must know, all Sepians are not brain dead zombies. They are still human with hearts and souls. They are still them but they look different. That being said, they run away the first chance they get except for the two that John and Sherlock knocked out._

_Did I cover any tangents this chapter may have had? If not, PM or review and I'll try to explain to the best of my capability. ^^ Ciao~_


	10. Chintzy

_A/N: I apologize for the late update, dears. I honestly would have had the update as soon as I normally promise except my laptop got this weird virus that completely wouldn't let me go past the start up window screen. Luckily for me being a techy, I figured it out but it took plenty of tears and screams of frustration. That being said, I think today was one of the first days it has been acting okay since then. I will post four today and aim for three or four tomorrow. _

_I apologize. None of these will be updated because they are already late as is. If you don't understand anything, tell me. I will gladly explain my confusing mess. It's more clear for me now in the story line, but it is still extending to be a larger web. Expect more of this because I am planning a lot more than I originally expected to appear in this story._

_So, with that note, you know the usual: read/review/fav/follow. Oh, and as a little fun moment for me: expect a Sherlock POV in the NEXT four (or three) I update. Just to try out. Enjoy the chapter!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock._

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 10: Chintzy<strong>_

When Sherlock and I walked into the flat, I realized that I could count on Mrs. Hudson being one thing to me for sure. A mother hen.

"Sherlock! Oh goodness, John, dear, are you alright?" Mrs. Hudson walked circles around us, patting my back and wagging a finger at Sherlock. She looked torn between scolding us and fretting over our wellbeing. If she had been a bird, her feathers would be ruffled up to the best of their capability, possibly purposefully thumping Sherlock in the head a few times.

And to her, he probably deserved it.

I would have laughed at the scene if it wasn't for the increasing exhaustion and the throbbing pain. My feet were dragging and my lids were growing heavier with each syllable the two uttered around me. I knew I had to check my injuries, take a shower, and force something down, but sleeping sounded easier to perform. I didn't think I could do half the objectives I wanted to do correctly without doing something wrong like putting salt in coffee or attempting to pour said coffee and having the liquid flowing well over the brim of the mug.

Perhaps I can push off checking my injuries until tomorrow morning. Along with eating and showering and every other decency. As disgusting as that probably sounds, that was one of the perks I supposed I had living with a man who I have expected to come home one evening covered in blood and holding a spear to boot.

Breaking away from Sherlock's side, I hobbled over to the stairs and climbed up them one at a time, cringing at every little ache and jab of pain that shot through the ankle or sole. I was beginning to hate stairs with each little misstep or shuffle. My feet didn't want to even elevate. Sliding them horizontally was hard enough as is. I had a feeling if I attempted to raise them any higher than necessary that they would thump against the wood and I would tumble down.

Not only would that be utterly embarrassing, but I had an inkling of a feeling that I probably wouldn't even try getting up from that position.

"Sherlock! Look at him! What did you do?" Her voice rose an octave when I cursed after accidentally kicking the bottom of a step and stumbling.

I heard Sherlock quickly hush the landlady, "He's just tired, Mrs. Hudson. Nothing a good night's rest won't fix, right John?" He looked at me expectantly and I glared at him. I was tempted to fall and show my soot-crusted wrists and ankles along with my worrisome knee, but I refrained from doing so just barely. It was an intriguing offer but, again, I probably would not get off the floor after I would fall and Sherlock probably wouldn't help me either.

So, another idea out the window due to exhaustion and injury. Reminded me of a fraction of Afghanistan.

"Yes," I spoke, acid dripping from my voice, "Certainly after I sleep all of this will be cured. Don't worry, Mrs. Hudson. Tomorrow I will be perfectly fine." She looked at me, not wanting to believe me, but then sighed in defeat.

"Fine. Do you two need anything? Tea? Stew?"

"No," Sherlock and I said in unison and we looked at each other for a moment before looking away. The landlady giggled to herself and walked away, the soft click of a door closing following her.

Sherlock was by my side a minute later, taking my arm and leveling the amount of weight I would have to carry. I thanked him with a grunt and allowed him to aid me in my trek up the treacherous stairway.

Once inside the flat, Sherlock led me to a door in the kitchen. Opening it, there was a bedroom. It looked barely used, a double-bed with a few end tables and a desk. I suspected this might have been Sherlock's room but he didn't appear to ever use it. Did he ever sleep?

"This, will be your room. You should rest. You do expect to go to work tomorrow, do you not?" he murmured, letting go of me so I could sit on the mattress.

"That was the plan though it depends how my injuries are tomorrow. I didn't expect to get electrocuted or a blasted knee from the event."

"Oh stop being dramatic," Sherlock rolled his eyes, "You didn't get electrocuted. That would involve your entire body feeling the voltage given and a result of incapacitation or fatality, which you did not suffer from. Also, as for that knee, that was your fault. You should have judged the male with better assessments before the strangulation."

"_Of course it was my fault. It could never ever be his that he got me into this mess_," I thought with a tinge of irritation.

"_Which you voluntarily followed_," a little voice added. Sadly, that was the more rational and less childish side.

I gnashed my teeth but not a second later a sigh slipped through. No, I didn't want to fight with this man tonight. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow morning or when – if – I get back from work, but not now. I feared that I would never rest my eyes if I engaged an argument with Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective.

"Yes, yes Sherlock. Now, while I would love to bicker about how my motives were what you should do and no one could predict the movements of every human being, I am tired. I'm sleeping. End of story."

It might have been my sight, but I thought I caught a glimpse of disappointment. Even though that probably should have sparked some sense of curiosity, it seemed the dark circles I spotted under his lids were something more to be concerned of.

Sherlock turned to leave the room but I stopped him, "Sherlock."

He didn't groan but he might as well have from the expression that was plastered on his face, "Hm?"

I scrutinized his face some more and felt a smirk wanting to tug at my tired lips out of sheer proudness. I knew it. He was tired. For some reason, spotting that in my exhausted haze made it all the more pleasing to see.

Sherlock had a few key signs that he was tired beyond what he would admit. The bags under his eyes and the way he appears to sway a little testified against his stubbornness. The doctor in me wished to chide the man for not taking care of his body. No doubt he hasn't slept for the past few days. Knowing him, he probably finds sleep boring.

However, I could not say that I didn't feel a smidgeon of surprise with how he was able to last so long with his meticulous mindset and even more complex dynamics. It was a mystery and it definitely spurred a sense of awe.

But I didn't want to fuel this habit. It was unhealthy and he was already underweight as is! Adding a sleep deprivation (insomnia?) antic with that and he might as well be a machine.

"Sleep, please." I looked at him, a little surprised with myself. He seemed so as well but still pursed his lips. Of course. I didn't expect him to give in so easily. That would be too simple for him and definitely concerning for me.

"I'd rather not. Sleep is just a way for my poor excuse of a functioning vessel to regenerate its incapability with more vigor. I'd rather drink a cuppa than take part in slumber. Such a boring way to waste the limited hours of the day."

"It's just sleep." I laid down on the mattress to make a point and he gave me a look. He didn't see the value in what I was proposing and probably thought I didn't understand where he was coming from. Oh, I knew where he was coming from, but I found it completely irrational and a wonderfully painful way into a quick grave.

"Yes, but it is also a way to get nothing done that is remotely productive," he countered smoothly. "I have other methods that are more practical and beneficial to my time than closing my eyes for some "well needed rest"."

I sighed, "Sherlock. You do know you are lying to a bloody doctor, correct? I can see all the symptoms-"

"Symptoms," he scoffed in dismay.

"-that you are tired and no matter how much you deny it, it isn't going to disappear just by wishing so. Just sleep for God's sake. Afterwards you can go on whatever rant suits your fancy about how sleep is apparently a hindrance in all that is dynamic and constructive to your various needs."

The detective looked torn between complaining more over the indecency of him partaking in sleep and between him not being tired. His eyes scanned the room from what I could tell and I saw them shine a little when he responded.

"And where shall I sleep?"

I glanced around with half-glazed eyes much as he did not seconds before. I thought of the couch as well but then remembered it was full of boxes with all kinds of chemical equipment. That only left the bed.

Wonderful.

"Here." I scooted over and motioned for him. Slumping and grumbling about how this was completely pointless, Sherlock sat down on the other side of the bed. He looked like he was waiting for me to pass out. With a glare from myself and a huff from him, he reluctantly laid down on the mattress and looked at the ceiling. Boredom could have been written in the air for all that he was giving it attention for.

"Happy?" he prompted with annoyance and a tinge of fatigue. I grinned despite my own annoyance on having to suffer any sparks if he made contact with me.

"Very. Now sleep. I'm very stubborn, Sherlock. I won't pass out until I see your chest rising and falling rhythmically." He glanced at me to see if I was being serious and then sighed when he saw that I was.

"I… suppose I could organize my mind palace as I sleep," he muttered, turning over to face away from me. His back was to me and I rolled my eyes, adjusting the comforter to cover him. Despite the fact we were both in our clothing still, it didn't seem to bother us.

That was good because I feared things would get very awkward very quickly if either one of us had anything off. Ah, no. Sherlock probably wouldn't but I sure as hell would. He probably would just examine me like some stupid science experiment!

Let's just say sleep came quickly and the morning even more so.

Grumbling against the light, I opened my eyes. For a moment, I was unsure where I was and I grew tense. I was not in my old bedroom at Harry's. Bloody hell, I wasn't even in the same _house_ as Harry and Clara. Where was I then? Did I drink too much and accidentally came home with a woman? Doubtful.

Scenarios and objectives rolled through my rejuvenating mind as I woke up. Words and phrases from kidnapping to being wasted. Once my rationality woke up, so did my actual sense. Soon after, it came flooding back in along with last night's events. My knee was in pain, pulsing and rejecting any movement involving twisting or rotating, and my wrists and ankles were thoroughly bruised and scorched from the electricity. A few scratches here and there were spotted on my arms and legs but that was probably from the scuffle with the two poorly-trained guards.

I moved my hand to wake Sherlock but I found his side cold. He had been awake for a while then. Fumbling a bit more to get the covers off of me, I heard something scrape the comforter and found a note. It was folded with "John" written in messy scripture on the front.

"Sherlock…" I groaned. Really. I knew I wasn't the only one who suffered injuries. I knew this for a fact. He didn't even let me check them. God that man. I swear he will be the death of me.

The notes contents were simple and to the point although I couldn't decipher some of his words at first. It was almost worse than the doctor scrawl I use for prescriptions.

"_John, I will be gone for most of the day and possibly the evening. I'm sure you are well aware of my abhorrence of boredom and a case has come to my attention. Berate me over my injuries and such when I return. Sherlock."_

Crumbling it into a ball, I threw it into the waste basket and got up. Every part of me was sore from the strenuous work I have not placed on my bones and muscles since Afghanistan.

I stripped out of my old clothes and hopped into the shower, enjoying the warm water cascading down my skin and washing away last night's evidence. Well, except for the injuries of course. All the knots in my muscles fell away like paint on a window.

When I got out, I observed my injuries more carefully, not amused with what little I did sustain.

The scratches were minuscule. It seemed at one point they did somehow bleed, but they were already beginning to scab over and heal. Every other part of me was worse for wear, so-to-speak. My wrists, ankles, and abdomen was painted in dark splotches of grey and some black. I was heavily bruised and any contact with the skin made me gasp and grip whatever ledge I could, nausea quickly following.

My knee was a different story although I was a little cautious of the injury altogether. The kick didn't tear a ligament or muscle though there was certainly a good amount of swelling and discoloration around the knee cap. Testing it slowly, I attempted to kneel and pain flourished almost instantly. I straightened it out again.

Perhaps I'll have Mary look at it. Tell her I fell down the stairs.

…Like she would believe me. She's observant. No doubt she would notice everything else with it that I didn't want her to see.

Sighing, I got ready for work and made my way down the stairs. Each step caused a jolt of pain in my knee and I would breathe in quickly. I was grateful for Mrs. Hudson not being in the lobby or she would probably fret over it and keep me home. I smiled at the thought and shook my head. Landlady? No she was more like a surrogate mother.

Much better than my own.

I hailed a cab and prepared myself for when I got to work. Most of the building consisted of stairs and the lifts were in the back of the building itself. I would be on this knee all day and I knew that that wasn't the best thing for it right now. The bruises would definitely cause problems but I could play them off. It wasn't easy to pretend nothing was wrong when anything besides a limp was painful. As it is, I shouldn't be testing it. If I do anything sudden the ligament would rip and I would be in even more pain than this. Hell, I wouldn't even be able to _move_.

And I would probably be murdered by Mary's chastise and heated glares.

The hospital was already bustling with life when I arrived. Speak of the devil and he will appear as they say. Almost instantly Mary was at my side with the clipboard of my patients. I was about to thank her when she grabbed my wrist. I flinched and she scrutinized me, pulling down the long sleeve shirt under the scrubs to view my bruised skin.

She gasped, her grip tightening.

"John…" she began but I cut her off.

"Later. I'll explain later. It's a long story." Shaking my wrist away from her handle, I grabbed the clipboard and made my way to the stairs, dreading going up their steep steps.

"John? Is something the matter with your knee?"

I cursed, "Like I said, a long story. I'll tell you over lunch." Probably not. I didn't want her to know that I went on some escapade with a dangerous detective. She would probably hang him by his neck or shoot him. Or both.

I flipped the pages, counting 4 patients today, and sighed.

Today was going to be a long day.

And I was already missing the thrill of the case Sherlock introduced me to.

I was in debate whether I should damn him to the bottomless pits of Hell or thank him for finally introducing something interesting in my life.


	11. Harmonious

_A/N: Not much to say here that I have not said in the last chapter really. These chapters will be a little slow, especially this one, but it does speed up I think after... chapter 13? Yeah, after that it gets more interesting. This is more so to build that bond that John is well aware of and Sherlock is oblivious(?) of._

_You know what I'm going to say: read/fav/follow/review. Enjoy the story, loves._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock._

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><p><strong><em>Chapter 11: Harmonious<em>**

I was dismissing my last patient when Mary knocked on my door.

"Come in," I replied automatically, flipping the papers of the last patient behind the clip to sign the last of the needed signatures. It was the usual: a pain medication that would make having no color easier to bear or a drug to drown out the fact that they have given up their mate. Sighing against the papers and glaring at the assessments of _depression_ and _mentally unstable_ of each paper I signed, I completely forgot about Mary entering my room.

Or even the promise I made her of telling her my "long story".

She tapped me on my shoulder and I jumped, resisting the habitual urge to immediately break into a combat stance or even settle the first move. It was Mary, not some Afghan vigilante. I was in a hospital, not a camp in the middle of the arid. Telling myself this was becoming a mantra that I half expected would conjure some message telling me I was dreaming and I was still there.

Of course, that would never happen. I hope not anyhow.

"John?" I blinked and Mary was in front of me, worry and annoyance on her face. I didn't know if it was because of me or due to an unacceptable patient or health care worker. Considering she was glaring at me pointedly and then my injuries from last night, I assumed it was myself.

She was probably annoyed that I didn't tell her what happened during lunch like I promised. It seemed a patient took longer than expected and I missed it. It wasn't like I was trying to avoid the topic. That would hint at fear which I clearly am not feeling while being scrutinized by this very motherly woman.

Involuntarily, my hand rubbed against my knee, trying to smother the pain that pulsed through each heartbeat. Mary caught it and rose her brow in my direction.

"Well?" She asked with a stern voice. "What happened? Was it that man from earlier? Did he get you hurt? Wait, did he hurt _you_? I swear I will-"

"Mary!" I interrupted. She was always like this when she was trying to figure certain things on her own. She jumped to conclusions too quickly and rarely listened to the input of the actual individual she thinks she is protecting. "It wasn't his fault. Ah, well, never mind. I would be lying then. I suppose in some roundabout way it _was_ his doing that I even got these, but he was not the one responsible for inflicting them. That would be myself and before you even began to slate me on how I should know better, let me just say that I knew what I was doing when I followed that man. I knew I would be entering danger and despite my "passive" nature now, I do not regret it."

Mary was speechless, but not at all surprised. She looked exhausted and worried. After a moment, a breath escaped her lips slowly, the tension in the room finally rising, and shook her head.

"Fine. I won't say anything. But let me say that I don't think that man you are following is a good influence on you. Mate or not." She led me back to the cot where the previous patient was and stripped the thin paper off of it, throwing it along with her gloves into the waste bin. Snapping on new gloves and placing a new coat of paper on the cot, she forced me to sit.

I was about to protest but one glare made my choke my words down forcefully.

"Let me see it."

I stared at her like I didn't know what she was talking about but then rationality and reasonability interfered and I rolled up my scrubs to reveal my very swollen and discolored knee. Mary tightened her lips into a thin line and glared at me. I met her gaze steadily.

"And what, may I ask, did you do to get this? This isn't a simply injury, John. It's not severe either, but you have clearly ignored all procedure to come and get this checked immediately and now look at it. It's swollen and I doubt it will heal properly knowing the stress you probably placed on it." She huffed and placed her hands on her hips, glaring at me. She wanted an answer and I owed her one I suppose.

I considered what I was going to tell her. I couldn't say that I was fighting a bloke to get into a warehouse. God only knows how she would react to _that_. I wouldn't lie to her, but perhaps telling her the whole truth wouldn't be the best either.

"A bloke managed to kick me in the knee," I stated simply. It was a little too simple, too vague. Mary didn't seem pleased with the answer either for her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Kneeling in front of my knee, she stretched it out and carefully prodded it with skilled hands. Remembered how I stated I only knew enough proficient doctors who knew how to suture correctly on one hand? Mary was one of them which was a mystery since she has never had to do any of the line of that line of work in her zones. I never questioned it and didn't pursue it now it mild concern that it would backfire with a question.

"Why did this man kick you, hm?"

I pursed my lips, contemplating how to pursue with this, "I may have bumped into him on accident. I didn't think much of it but he appeared really offended by such acts. He was a little odd considering, though." Truth hidden with a veil of lies. Sherlock would be oh so proud of me.

Mary hummed in response, shaking her head while placing her index finger and thumb on the sides of my knee cap and moving it. I flinched violently in response and she nodded.

"I haven't the slightest idea just how this man kicked you, but it seems like he may have dislocated you patella. I'm amazed you were able to walk on it this long. Weren't you in pain from the beginning?" Mary questioned and I nodded.

"I assumed it was just bruised, but your theory makes some sense."

Mary grinned at me, "Of course it makes sense. I am a doctor you know."

"A doctor in the Sanctuary and Coping Zones," I countered though I chuckled nonetheless.

"Oh shush it you," she scolded before dropping the humor, "I'm going to set it. It's going to be quick since it wasn't a full dislocation, but nonetheless it will hurt."

"Mary, I do know what a dislocation is and how it is to be fixed. You know this better than most I would think." I rolled my eyes but still steadied myself and started taking deep breaths.

Scoffing at me, she shook her head before jerking her hands. A distinct pop occurred followed by pain emanating from the base of the injury. I clenched my teeth but it quickly fell away to mild throbs and I found it distinctively easier to bend and twist.

"Thank you," I spoke, getting of the cot. "I really should be going though. As is, I have stayed here a little longer than I expected." I sighed, knowing that Sherlock probably wouldn't be home. No doubt he is out chasing some other bloke from another mysterious organization that I have not known of. Even thinking of the chase was making me envious of the man, along with the borderline concern following it.

_Danger prone. Accident magnet. A bloody idiot._ All of these followed after him. He was a complete fool sometimes, even more oblivious than he claims me to be, but he would never admit or see that. That would deplete him of his pride and god forbid he actually do _that_.

While rustling my hair in thought of the bothersome detective, I reached out for the door handle. When I was about to grasp it, it opened on its own. I jumped back, fully aware that it couldn't be a doctor since no one knocked as procedure went.

That shock plummeted to irritation as I gazed at Sherlock. He didn't look a twinge out of breath, but every part of him expressed his chase. The scarf around his neck wrapped uncomfortably across his neck from the wind and even his Belstaff coat was off its usual meticulous posture. His face and body, physically, however, was perfectly fine. His face wasn't darkened from the activity and even his breathing was normal.

"John," he nodded to Mary next to me before grabbing me by the forearm (the spark accompanying it being a jolt to my system) and pulling me out of the room. I gave a quick wave to Mary and followed him. When we were on the first floor, I ripped my arm from his grip and stopped him. He gave me a look of exasperation but I shook my head.

"I would love to follow you on your endeavors, Sherlock, but I was under the impression that you would be gone until the evening."

"As I was. Have you not checked the time, yet?" I followed what he said and checked the time on my phone, surprised when it read 8:56 pm. I looked up and Sherlock was texting someone. It was quick and I caught the last glimpse of _S.H._ on his phone when he sent it and put his phone away.

"As I was saying before, I require your services."

"Another case?" I asked and he nodded.

"Yes, another case though certainly by the same man that we encountered last night. Apparently he didn't go to J.M. as planned, or if he did this anonymous individual is closer than expected. Much closer."

"That still doesn't explain why you need me," I reminded and he sighed and started walking. I took this as his clue to get moving and quickly matched his step as he spoke.

"Murder. I need you to see a murder."

"A _murder_?" I cried and then regained my composure. "A murder of whom? Also, I am a clinical doctor, not a mortician. I cannot secure a valid description-"

"But," he interrupted, unaware of my glare, "You were an army doctor before this as you love to point out it appears. That being said, I am sure you have seen plenty of blood and murders in your vocation. It would be infrequent if you hadn't seen such ordeals occur and quite the lie, wouldn't you say?"

Opening the door, he held it to me as I walked out, waving at all the curious nurses and doctors following us.

"So, doctor, saying you are only a simple clinical doctor would be like saying that compositions from Bach or Beethoven were just pressing a few little keys. You are certainly fit for diagnosing bodies. You have seen numerous bodies from common bullet wounds to suicides. Do you not miss the rush it gives to be at the front of these corpses and being able to tell what happened to them?"

I kept silent and hailed a cab. Ignoring that his hand slid from my forearm to my wrist.

"Don't you miss knowing what happened to them? Knowing why their blood stopped in their veins? No, wait, you are not like that, are you John? You like to know who did it to them and replace justice, don't you?"

I thinned my lips and traced the roads for the familiar black cabs, spotting one in the distance.

Sherlock chuckled and I broke my concentration with the street to meet him in the eye. What was amusing to him now? I certainly wasn't amused with how accurate he was being. Definitely not. Impressed? Maybe. But definitely not _amused_.

"What?" A cab pulled up to the curb soon after my reply and the driver motioned for us to enter.

"You didn't have to say a word for me to be certain of my assumptions. Your actions revealed everything. First of all, ever since I have mentioned this to you, you have not visibly denied it or even turned back to go inside. You haven't abandoned my approach or even volunteered to change it. You miss it John. I can tell. I haven't the faintest idea why you would try to mask such fancies in front of a person of my standard or even of my occupation."

With that, he stepped into the cab. I stood there for a moment, thinking over what he said. Annoyance, irritation, and utter fascination overwhelmed me. To think, this man was going to be my mate. To think that such a bloke would actually suit my standards.

It… didn't seem so far off now.

But neither were his remarks.

"Damn it," I cursed, giving a heavy sigh and releasing a smile before entering the cab.


	12. Dimmed

_A/N: I think I kind of liked this chapter. Plenty of research and my own little original thing here and there. For one, I think you can tell the first immediately. I really wanted to have it set like you will see since it will be definitely better when I bring said change back later._

_Gott... being vague is not my usual cup of tea. Hm... Ah, whatever. The usual drill: Read/reviw/fav/follow._

_I apologize for my epic skills of not editing any of these chapters. Beware the grammar and spelling mistakes I have._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock (How long should I have this here?)_

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><p><strong><em>Chapter 12 – Dimmed<em>**

I recognized the man Sherlock was going to greet me to before the detective could utter a word. Mostly due to my profession, but partially since he was the one man who seemed to actually show interest in helping those I deemed needed it. He held a moral mind compared to the others who dismissed my words like some annoying banter. He definitely left a mark in my book and I smiled once I recognized the man

"Lestrade!" I shouted and the man with disheveled hair and more than a weeks' worth of stubble turned to look at me with raised brows. They rose even further once they took in the voice to my face. A smile followed but it was one of complete surprise. That is, until he saw the detective. Then he rolled his eyes before making his way over to me. All surprise left his features by that point.

"Doctor Watson, nice seeing you, mate. Haven't spoken to you since the last Translucence ordeal you brought to my attention. How's the hospital these days?" He shook my hand firmly before resting it against his side.

I shrugged, "The usual. If it's not some drug attack, it's always something to do with the violent vicinity. We have had a few cases with unstable Discoloured and Sombres but nothing remarkable I'll admit." The only truly interesting thing that happened since my last intervention with Lestrade was meeting Sherlock Holmes in the ER along with his posh excuse of a brother who I haven't heard from since the information he left me.

Speaking of which, I should probably burn that when I get home. I didn't have the chance to and then last night I was in a state of disarray mixed with restraint. I don't believe in Mycroft's motives to keep this from Sherlock, but I guess it is for his own good in some sort of way I cannot comprehend at the moment.

If Sherlock spotted that, he would lose trust in me and I didn't want to lose that. Not as his newly acquainted friend and possible mate.

Lestrade nodded, "I can relate. Is that why you have been chasing this reckless kid here?" He jabbed his thumb over to Sherlock and the man in question scoffed, grumbling about not being a kid or the other.

I laughed, "Actually he found me and I seemed to have found my path mingling with his. I suppose it's too late to leave now considering I'm sharing a flat with him."

Lestrade seemed more surprised with the flat than anything, "Oh? So he actually let somebody live with him? That's a first. When I first knew him, he would live in all these places alone since he said he couldn't bear the company of any person he ever met. You must be something special-"

"That's enough Lestrade." I glanced at Sherlock's face and wanted to smirk when his face seemed tinted just a twinge darker. That was one of the pluses of Monochromism. You could tell easier when a comment affects someone which, if it wasn't yourself, made it all the more amusing. You don't have to rely on color. Although, seeing his pale complexion turn red probably wouldn't be too bad either. "The murder, if you will. I would rather see it before Anderson intervenes and destroys everything of worth."

The detective inspector chuckled, but didn't let Sherlock pass as easily as I thought, "And who are you going to let diagnose the body if Anderson isn't allowed?"

"You were talking to him a few seconds ago. Do I need to state it any further?"

Lestrade turned to look at me then to him before mulling over the same issue I had when I met Sherlock: morality or curiosity.

Curiosity won, as it always seemed to, and Lestrade moved aside, leading the way to the murder. Sherlock smiled grimly though I could see that distinct glint in his eye. He was fascinated with the murder. Or any murder perhaps. Either way, I didn't know if it was worrying or… intriguing?

"The victim is a woman, went by the name Florence Gale. She was of age 34 and according to Iridescence, she was definitely a Monochrome. They also clarified she wasn't a Sombre or Discoloured. The murder weapon is like all the others. Suicide." Once we reached the entry room, Lestrade handed me a white scrub to wear over my clothing and I slipped it on effortlessly before following them into the living room where a vial full of white and grey splattered pills laid strewn next to a corpse.

"I highly doubt suicide is the cause of death, Lestrade. It's amusing to realize that even though centuries have passed with your sort of occupation and you still like to assume the easiest conclusion is the right one. How predictable." Lestrade bristled a little but I saw it fizzle away quickly. He was used to this.

Well, he did know Sherlock longer than I did. I suppose I would react the same if I were in his shoes.

I slipped my gloves on and patted a mask into the pockets of my scrubs before walking over to the inspector.

He glanced at me and nodded me forward, "Go ahead doctor. I need him and if he needs you to do his work, I have no say against that. Just know that I give you both five minutes to relay whatever you find. After that, I will have to lead you off the scene."

"More than enough time," Sherlock murmured but was already entranced with the murder, looking under the corpse's nails and at her hair. He was analyzing anything and everything and I would give anything to see how his mind worked. It was amazing. Extraordinary.

Gears roaming through his skull like clockwork. Each thought and rambling accusation scrolling through the machine like some sort of generator. Fascinating.

I shook myself out of my stupor. Get it together John. You are not here to marvel at Sherlock. You are here to figure out how this person died and who might have done it. Not this soul mating business that you never even showed interest in before this man. Actually, why should you change? It's not like he has shown any visible sense of acknowledging you as such. Why start now?

I winced but knelt before the body and begin to check for discolorations and anything out of the ordinary.

A smile fell on my lips triumphantly even though my pride was over the murder cause of a dead woman.

It only took me a moment to see what the cause was, "Potassium Cyanide poisoning."

Lestrade took out his notepad and a pen, clicking the end, "Oh? How so if you don't mind me asking, doctor."

"Not at all. This person has been exposed to cyanide over a long period of time from the looks of it and the pills only quickened it towards the end. The skin is red from the chemicals not allowing oxygen to get to the cells. When I neared the individual, their breath, although almost undetectable, had a distinct bitter smell to it which seemed to accompany the foam that is protruding from the mouth. That mixed in with the clear erratic motions stressed on the body and the pills following suit, I would diagnose that this was due to cyanide poisoning." When I looked up, I glanced at Sherlock and then at Lestrade. Sherlock was grinning to himself while Lestrade was surprised but in an impressed way.

I did well. That's good. I suppose it is all thanks to the military for that. I have seen plenty of people use these pills when we have to take the more guilty ones into interrogation. I have known men who had to use them themselves. Overall, I knew the symptoms of a common cyanide pill and the knowledge that this was now being used as common suicide – or murder – tactics did not settle well.

"Can you tell if it was murder or suicide, John?" Sherlock questioned and I shook my head. "Ah, well I suppose you did well despite the fact that you have much to learn." He probably meant it as a compliment but I found it bitter-sweet. Mocking my knowledge but at the same time impressed by it. That detective. He had a way with words that seemed to cause confliction. He probably did it on purpose.

"Did the Iridescence clarify if the victim was depressed in any manner?" Sherlock asked the inspector and Lestrade replied a negative. Nodding to himself, Sherlock stood.

"Any color aspects I should be aware of?"

"None except for the common ones expressed in the most recent murder spree," the inspector responded curtly.

Sherlock smirked, "Oh this is brilliant then! Absolutely grand! This murder has only gotten more interesting! Ah I love a good murder. A serial killer at that. Always wishing to get caught and deliberately avoiding it."

"Sherlock!" I hissed, pinching my nose.

He looked at me innocently, "Yes?"

"Care to introduce us to your apparent euphoria?"

Sherlock sighed reluctantly, "This was not done by the same individual as the other murders. This is someone new altogether. In fact, it is more of a copy-cat killer than anything considering you have said they have the same nails, scleras, and the like. That being said, there were a few other signs to clarify this. The fondness expressed in the former murders were dropped here. Bruises aligned the wrists and throat. Also, the hand itself of the murderer is different. Very much so. There are distinct impressions left along the lower jaw and bridge of the nose to infer that the murderer forced the pill into her mouth before suffocating her to the point that she would have to swallow it by default." He paused, amused. "Like I said, not a suicide."

Lestrade nodded while scribbling along the notepad in his palms. I was surprised how much he actually got written down. I probably would have contributed a few things here and there, but I was too busy being overwhelmed by the man's deductions. Was this how he was in every single one of his cases? If so, it was going to take a while to get used to this. This was breath taking and alluring.

And damn him for making it like that.

Damn this. Damn that. I seem to like combining that word to him like it was a nickname. I really should stop that before I let it slip, not that he would mind anyway.

The detective walked out of the living room with a "farewell Lestrade" and motioned for me to follow. I was making my way but Lestrade stopped me.

"John, I hope you don't mind my prodding, but… are you and him possibly…" I paused, tempted to brush it aside again. "It's just, when you were near him and especially when he was deducing and doing his normal antics, I could see a distinct white aura around you and him. I don't mean to prod, mate. It's not my intentions. I'm just a tad curious."

Mulling over what to say, I sighed and nodded.

"Yeah, but I doubt he will ever realize. You have known him a long time, Lestrade. He is intelligent in everything knowledgeable but oblivious in the social and human of life. Whatever the case, I've gotten used to it. I think as long as he keeps being his childish and abruptly confusing self, I will manage being the one to keep him out of danger."

Lestrade patted my back and pushed me out the door, "Well, best of luck, mate! I will say that if nothing happens by the next case, I might have to interfere!" We both laughed at that and he waved goodbye before shutting the door.

I, on the other hand, took quick and contrasting heavy steps to the cab. Each step was like concrete that matched my heart thumping to the delegating fear of mating.


	13. Picturesque

_EDIT: This is for the review concerning a TSL that I can't remember if I mentioned in this chapter or the last (It's a long explanation...)_

_First of all, let me write this down because it came to my attention that I really should have edited most of those other chapters I posted on Monday. This was, again, brought up by LibraryCat9 because I contradicted myself on the Translucence blindness to the TSL factor I introduced. Let me explain this now so hopefully it will clear up a little bit._

_Much like Helen Keller who was taught sign language by her instructor using her hand to mold Helen's over to get the letter and shape, this is how the Translucence are taught their TSL. The difference is, of course, that they can clearly hear the sounds which makes it significantly easier. Now that that is explained, let me attempt to explain how they learn in case that comes up later._

_Most of the time TSL is taught to the educated Translucence, albeit rare in the society. Otherwise, this trait may be acquired by physically teaching. That being said, it is almost interesting to realize that the Monochrome/Iridescence society were the ones to create this system – not the Translucence themselves. This was because the Translucence didn't see the need but the normal crowed found it difficult to convey conversations with them when they spoke so softly. _

_Translucent parents rarely teach their offspring this skill unless they actually know this language very well or have the patience to slowly perfect it. Neither is the case half the time depending on lifestyle and culture. _

_In the case of Lucille, Toby, and Seth, if you remember correctly they are orphans. I originally planned to mention their past in some filler to explain things, but while I'm at this whole information spiel, I might as well clear it up now. They are orphans but their parents, prior to being assassinated by the Violent Vicinity, were actually mediocre in status compared to the usual Translucence party. That being said, they didn't live in the Grime Zones then and had more or less a place to live in. Their parents were able to have someone teach their children TSL because they found it a useful skill in case they were in trouble or wanted to prosper in life, granted this did cause the Violent Vicinity to notice them and led to the tragic result. _

_So, to sum this up, TSL is a language that Translucence who are uneducated – a good portion of the percentage – don't understand and those who were lucky to learn are able to convey. If there is confusion as to why John knows this language, think of it as ASL or the like. You learn it in case you need it but just enough to get the basics._

_God that was longer than expected. I apologize a lot. I hope this answers your question LibraryCat9. _

_P.S. If you have questions about the concepts in my story, expect these long explanations. I try to make it easier to understand with more words, if that makes any sense at all._

_A/N: Last chapter for tonight guys. I'm exhausted. Talked to my girlfriend and then did homework and all this stuff. I'm so tired. I have to paint I think... four art pieces by next week and I'm meticulous and a infamous perfectionist. Two are requests, two are art projects. Fun times._

_I get to bring back the little girl I brought in once! Finally! I had to think this one over and you will see why I suppose when you read it. Send John home or something else? It was like the whole morality vs curiosity theme in this._

_But yes, enjoy it. I can't upload anymore and I'm passing out on my keyboard as we speak. _

_As a fun note that nobody will probably not read, is there anybody who would like to help me beta this? I would search one up but I'm far too busy with classes and an education. Ugh... as they say, "The Junior year counts the most!" _

_Read/review/follow/fav. Enjoy the chapter, dears._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock_

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 13: Picturesque<strong>_

Before I entered the cab, I peered around. I didn't know what I was looking for – or hoping to not see – but an urge had gripped me to perform a surrounding scan before entering the cab. It was a gut feeling and they normally were right, despite my luck proving to be the opposing force. This one felt increasingly important even though the area certainly didn't feel like it.

Dark buildings, dimly-lit windows, and empty sidewalks greeted my view for a second or two. Nothing out of the ordinary. Everything was as it should be, in that sense of complete compliance and a little bit of boredom. Dull greys and other colors flashed before my eyes like a long movie with no plot or action to change it. The usual. The orthodox. Nothing abnormal.

Boredom wanted to scream into my skull like a ricocheting bullet, but I refrained from doing so with a grim smile. That is what Sherlock would do, wouldn't he? He would say that all of this was boring and rather unimportant to the case at hand. While I would probably agree to his statement, that feeling still pushed me to look forward, past the darks that were subtly different, almost unchanging.

That was when I spotted it. Ah, actually, that was when I spotted _her_. Although her white hair was hidden under a makeshift beret and she seemed dirtier, it was unmistakably Lucille Faye. The girl from a few days ago.

Was it a few days ago or was it weeks? With all this chasing and hiding, it seemed like months had passed by in a blink of an eye when in reality it had only been a few minutes! Perhaps it was my new life with Sherlock, one that will never be boring as long as I am with the man who abhors it most.

Tangents, John.

I felt Sherlock pull on my sleeve but I shooed him away, squinting at the small Translucent girl. She wasn't hard to see since she was a stark contrast to the dark and musty alleyway she resided in. I didn't know how she could see me, or even how she knew I was looking at her, but almost instantaneously she began motioning me to follow her. When I didn't move, she gave me probably one of the most distressed faces ever before trying to sign something.

I wasn't fluent in sign language, TSL (Translucent Sign Language) even less so, but I knew the basic alphabet in both. One word stood out for me: urgent.

Flashes and sirens went off in my head. Exhilarated John that was chasing detectives was pushed back to reveal Doctor John who saved lives when they needed it most. Sherlock's complains and the cabbie's grumbles and pleas were drowned out as I attempted to read her quick fingers. This was definitely more important than a simple cab home. It might as well involve someone's life that I could recover.

Her fingers verified it.

_Urgent. Help. Injured. Vicinity._

She didn't need the medical attention, but somebody else did who was probably a good friend of hers. Either way, I was being wasted here as an ear for Sherlock's rants. She needed me and the twinges of annoyance that followed made me almost curse. I didn't have my medical bag with me but that didn't stop me from breaking into a sprint. Once I was a few meters from Lucille, she pivoted and began running, always glancing behind her shoulder every so often to be sure I was following her.

Alleys twisted and turned, darks greys became blacks with brief spurts of white light from the few lanterns. Trash littered every wall and more than I few times I could feel something break under my foot whether glass or some other substance I didn't care to clarify. It wasn't until I saw the gate that stood possibly five meters high that I knew where we were heading. It was very distinct and anybody would be able to locate it from far away.

The Grime Zones.

They were as the name implies. The zone where trash and the poor accumulate and prosper. Where those who can't pay mortgage or rent of their flat end up eventually. Where the homeless visit frequently or stay at as their home. I only know this from the few times the hospital sends me here to check on the health of the inhabitants. These people were often susceptible to the most common of illnesses. Disease was like a wild fire here and if one spark got out, a plague would begin.

Many people reside here and as my pace slowed to a brisk walk, I could tell the Discoloured from the Translucent to the Sombres. This area was like a melting pot of the color scheme. Oddly enough, I saw a few Iridescence couples here and those were one of the saddest sights to see. Even though they are happy with their mate and life, they still are not allowed to live at the life they fully deserve as a human being.

But these were the grime zones. I didn't know if it was more depressing that they actually had a place to hold all of the homeless and poor or that they all used to harbor along the shadows of buildings and the ink of the alleys.

Lucille patted my arm and I blinked, looking at her. She was pointing at one of the many little huts adorning the walls of the Grime Zone. Small huts that looked no more than simple adobe buildings with a piece of cardboard as a door. A few were caved in but most were in okay condition, only protesting when those placed pressure on their walls.

Ducking my head in the doorway, Lucille knelt in front of a boy that was perhaps a few years older than she was. Beside him was another boy, definitely the second oldest of the trio. Judging from their few traits that their Translucent parents passed, I guessed they must have been siblings. He was one of the most concerned of the group.

But not the one with the most injuries. That would be the oldest. It didn't take rocket science to see this young man was inflicted physically and not by disease. That, was at least one little ray of sunshine in this otherwise grim situation. If something as painful as tuberculosis grasped him, I would be able to do nothing but to try and make him as comfortable as possible.

His chest and arms were lacerated with what appeared to be whips. His fingers and most of his right arm was scorched with third degree burns. A cut above his left eyebrow was bleeding profusely and I didn't see him responding to the pain. No doubt he fell unconscious and his body needed the time to recover from the shock. Not dead, just not conscious.

"D-doctor…" the girl stuttered, shaking as she pointed to her comrade.

Getting on my knees, I saw the boy and sighed. I didn't have half the supplies I needed. Hell, I didn't have _any_ of the supplies I needed and there was little to use here as improvisation.

I was about to question anything to write on when both of the children stiffened. They peered fearfully at some shadow in the doorway. When I looked up, I glared at the shadow who stood awkwardly in the doorway.

"If you are going to scare the children, Sherlock, at least be courteous and tell them your name. That was uncalled for."

"Oh, like how you deserted me at the cab," Sherlock retorted, kneeling next to me. The children scooted away a little but I stopped them.

"He's a friend," I told them softly and pointed to Sherlock. "Don't worry about him. He isn't here to hurt you and if he was, I would protect you. Don't fret." The two children relaxed a little bit, though they still watched the man with a mixture of fear and confusion. Sherlock didn't say anything to deter their fear either, much to my dismay. Things would go so much easier if he would actually lower the tension in this room.

I continued the examination of the boy's injured form, creases forming after each marking. The Violent Vicinity was definitely at this young man. It wasn't the worst case I have set my eyes on, but it wasn't the simple ones either. I needed supplies. With where they are living and residing in now, I wouldn't be surprised if the wounds he sustained are infected.

"Sherlock." He looked up at me, his eyes meeting mine steadily. "Do you have a pen? I need it for a second if you do." Reaching into one of his pockets, he mutely handed me a pen. I fumbled my fingers around my pocket and beamed when I found a piece of paper, not curious what was on it.

Ripping a corner out of it, I stuffed the rest back in my pocket. I used my knee as a writing surface as I quickly wrote something down and handed it to Lucille. She flinched a little, her blindness not picking it up quick enough but soon enough she grabbed it and rubbed her fingers over it. Her brows creased a little in confusion.

"What do you wish for me to do, Dr. Watson?" She looked up at me and I couldn't help but to offer a grim smile I knew she wouldn't see.

"I need you to take that to the hospital you went to see me. Do you remember where that is?" She nodded slowly. "Good. Go there and ask the nice receptionist to see Sarah Sawyer. When you see her, hand her this note and she will definitely give you some supplies or will accompany you back to me."

I helped her up and when she found her way to the door I called out to her, "Lucille?"

She turned, determination showing in her otherwise sightless eyes, "Yes?"

I smiled, "Run. It gets you places faster."

Nodding, she was off. I looked at the door for a moment longer before sighing. The younger boy kept looking at Sherlock like he was confused. I suppose this would be a good time to ask what happened.

"What happened to this boy, if you don't mind me asking?" I gently prodded the boy and he shivered.

"Big brother saw the Violent Vicinity coming our way from the entrance of the Grime Zones. He hid us but he couldn't hide himself with us. He wasn't fast enough. The Violent Vicinity came up to him and pushed him. They were growling and calling him all these names and accusing him of things he never did. Then… Then…" Tears began to spill over the child's eyes and I hushed him.

"He got hurt, yes?" I finished and the boy nodded. "Can you tell me what the man who hurt him was like? This is, assuming it is a man?"

"It was a man. I could hear the voice. Not a kid. I don't know anything else except his aura was weird. It was different from what I have ever deciphered."

My eyes narrowed and I felt Sherlock stiffen a little beside me, "What was it like?"

"It wasn't fully Violent. It wasn't at all. It was only a little bit. It kept getting mixed with monochrome auras. I didn't know what he was and it scared me."

"_Not fully monochrome, but not of Violent Vicinity origins? Why does that sound familiar?"_ I thought as I gently removed some of the clothing on the eldest boy.

I paused, well-aware of who else fit this but wasn't of Violent Vicinity type. Removing my hands, I looked at the boy steadily, "If I had asked you to compare the aura to mine or Sherlock's, who would you choose?"

The boy hesitated before signing in TSL the name. I guess he didn't trust Sherlock, though I had no doubt in my mind that Sherlock probably knew TSL as well. Twisting and rotating his wrist and fingers, I easily read what he was trying to spell.

"_Sherlock_."


End file.
